


A Court of Wind and Flame

by stardustsroses



Series: A Court of Wind and Flame [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Completed, F/M, Fluff, Illyrian Camps, Mating Bond, Multichapter, Night Court - Freeform, Post-ACOWAR, Smut, Summer Court, a court of wind and flame, nessian series, stardustsroses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 06:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 86,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14929343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustsroses/pseuds/stardustsroses
Summary: When returning home to Velaris after the war with Hybern, the Inner Circle find the City of Starlight to be completely the same, even after all the bloodshed and the pain and the loss. But they soon find that some wounds are deeper than others - some of them are more affected than others. This will be the story of how Nesta and Cassian deal with their newly-discovered mating bond; the story of their journey towards healing; and story of a wolf, the story of a lion - a story of wind and flame.





	1. Chapter 1

Cassian

I see her in my dreams and she feels so real. She wears a smile so gentle, so incredibly soft. Not like the early morning rays that flow through the windows, spilling on the bedroom floor but – gentler. Softer, somehow. Like moon light.

I want to trace constellations on her back. And, in my dreams, I do.

I taste and I take, and when she asks me for more, when her lips form the shape of my name, I oblige her. In dreams, she takes my face between her hands and whispers to me, tells me truths and calls me hers, and in those dreams my fingers are woven into her hair and my face is buried in the soft loose curls, breathing her in.

I want to be the reason for that smile, for that gleam in her eyes. And, in my dreams, I am.

When she pulls me down and rolls her hips against mine, my mouth only knows the sound of her name. I call her my moon, and she shakes her head, her thumbs pressing into my mouth – two locks on my lips. Breathlessly, she whispers against my skin, “The moon has no light of her own.”

I dig my fingers into the bones of her hips. But then, in my dreams, she is turning her face away from me, eyes cast downward, and she whispers against my mouth, “She’s a thief. A thief of light.”

And I never understand – I can never comprehend why she pulls away, why her lips turn away from mine when I try to catch them, why the feel of her body no longer exists in my world. She leaves me cold.

In dreams, I feel a dagger burying itself between my ribs, twisting up and digging its way to my heart.

I can never free that dagger.

When I look at her, there is no smile, no gleam, as she walks away from me.

She always walks away.

***

A blow to my stomach sends me crashing into a tree behind me. I hiss through my teeth as my wings drag over the sharp, broken branches. The trunk splits in the middle, and as my eyes regain focus I hear it thumping to the ground, leaving an echo in the forest. A hundred birds fly off and away, a hundred pines fall down – and one hits me right in the head.

“Concentrate, Cassian.”

Azriel is upon me in seconds, a hand held out. I take it begrudgingly, pulling myself up.

“If you do not empty your mind of whatever it is that’s distracting you, this training session is going to be useless,” he says.

“I know,” is all I answer as I wipe the sweat from my brow.

Azriel eyes me for a second too long. And then, “Do you want to talk about it?”

My eyes follow the line of trees we previously destroyed behind him. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

There’s something close to a smile on my brother’s face, but he makes no comment. He simply sheathes his sword, and my gaze follows that movement. I can feel myself frown.

“What’re you doing?”

“We’re done for today. You’re clearly not in the right mind-set – and I do not wish to send you crashing into another tree. You’ve already destroyed plenty.”

I scoff at him as I pick up my own disregarded sword. My siphons gleam in the weak afternoon sun. “You’re lively today,” I comment, sending him a look. “I wonder why.”

Azriel’s eyes snap to me – at the tone.

“Let me guess,” I continue. “An Archeron sister?”

My brother elbows me hard enough to make me clutch my side. He ignores my teasing grin, and starts walking away. I follow suit.

“You’re especially insufferable today,” he bites back. “Let me guess. An Archeron sister?”

He looks at me over his shoulder, flashing me a similar grin. And hell, I can’t even deny it. But I still push his shoulder as I reach him.

An Archeron sister, indeed.

My wounds are healed. After two months of healing tonics and healing salves and other nonsense like no physical efforts – whatever that means – I could finally dedicate my time to training, to regaining the strength I had lost. I can still feel the strain in my legs, the slight sting along the membrane of my wings after flying for too long. But I’m better. Or, at least, I have to believe I am. Because facing that reality – the possibility of never going back to how I was before the war…I can’t stand it. I won’t stand it.

But even dedicating my full time – which, nowadays, I have plenty of – to training does not seem to be enough to occupy my mind. My thoughts are scattered, knotted pieces that consist almost solemnly of grey eyes that remind me of storm clouds.

I can’t get her out of my mind.

If it was purely a physical need…I would’ve been able to ignore that tug towards her. But it was so much more – there were so many layers to it. That pull to her is there every second of every day and it drives me mad. The craving for something else, for something more – it never stops. It tugs at me, eats me from the inside out, it pushes me toward her despite me knowing perfectly well that I can’t-

I can’t have her.

My mind – and my body – had been revolving around her even before the war. But after-

I feel Azriel’s eyes intent on my face, so I scowl my features into something neutral. Or something close to it, anyway.

“Say what’s on your mind, Az. Don’t hold back,” I look at him from the corner of my eye.

“I don’t mean to pry.”

“Then don’t.”

We’re silent as we walk back through the woods. The cold, late-Autumn breeze is welcomed against my face, against my boiling body. I’m not too sure the reason why I’m burning all over is because of that training session alone.

Azriel hesitates beside me. His mouth opens, closes, and opens again, and I already know what he’s about to ask me before I hear him say the words, “Cass, have you considered the possibility of N-“

Rhys pops up in front of us, wings tucked in tight, a calm smile on his face.

I actually jump back, a string of curse words leaving my mouth. “Mother’s…tits, Rhys.”

Az is still beside me, barely flinching. Rhys’s smile widens, turning arrogant. Damn him and his dramatic entrances. His dramatic – really cool – entrances.

“Jealousy does not become you, Cass.”

“Get out of my head.”

I block him out, a wall of adamant between my mind and his, but not before I send him one single image – my middle finger. Rhys breathes a laugh.

“You have news,” Azriel guesses before Rhys has a chance to say more.

The three of us walk together, out of the woods. Rhys turns his face toward us both, “A messenger came today from the Summer Court. Tarquin is expecting us next week.”

“So it is confirmed?” Azriel says. “And are we all supposed to accompany you?”

Rhys nods. “Yes, all of you.” He eyes me. “Tarquin was brief in his letter, but the offer was given.”

“Well,” I say to neither of them in particular. “It’s progress, at least.” 

“Try not to bring down another building this time, Cass,” the High Lord says, mouth open in a grin. “We are going to try and repair our relationship with Summer – not add some more blood rubies to our collection.”

I shoot him a look. “If I remember correctly, brother,” my grin matches his, “it was you and your mate who screwed up things with Tarquin the last time – which started our ruby collection in the first place.”

Rhys shrugs. “Touché.”

“Don’t mind him,” Azriel snorts. “Cassian is a little on edge today. He put down four trees in a row.”

I narrow my eyes. “How about I put you down, brother?”

“You’d like to try, I suppose.”

There is a pause. And then I throw myself at him, tackling my brother to the ground. Rhysand takes a step back, flicking little specks of dirt off his tunic, watching us while shaking his head in quiet amusement.

Azriel wrestles me off easily, my body already too tired to put any effort into it. He shoots me an arrogant grin – frighteningly similar to Rhys’ – and we laugh together like we’re children again, play-fighting and rolling around in the dirt. For a second, it reminds me of our childhood, before any of us were touched by war. It reminds me of apple pies and throwing ourselves into stupid, careless fights. It reminds me of Rhys’ mother, screaming at us to get inside the house, because “Dinner is ready, go wash your hands. Rhysand, you come here right now, leave your broth-RHYSAND. LEAVE YOUR BROTHER ALONE.”

The smile on my face is genuine, for once. I don’t notice the walls in my mind coming down or sending this memory to Rhys, being too distracted helping Azriel up, but then his smile turns different as he looks at both of us. His eyes turn to me.

“I miss her too,” he murmurs.

We’re silent for the rest of the way home. I lift my head towards the horizon, where the sun sets, painting the rain clouds in a thousand shades of orange and pink and yellow. A gust of wind blows the hair out of my face, and I quickly tie it back.

“I take it Feyre is not in?” I say to Rhys.

For Rhys had no need to winnow to meet us – he could’ve simply told us the news when we got home or by touching our mental shields. I think he must’ve been impatient at home, waiting for his mate to return, not really having much to do. I wonder what that feels like – to feel anxious because of someone else’s absence, not knowing what to do with yourself because your person isn’t with you.

“She went to the market with Elain this afternoon,” Rhys says.

I can feel Az’s attention on those words, his focus on that name. Neither Rhys nor I say anything about it, however. But there’s a part of me that feels for my brother – knowing what he feels, I can only imagine how terrible the whole Elain-has-a-mate-she-does-not-want situation is.

But then the words spark another thought – Elain and Feyre. No Nesta involved.

“Nesta didn’t go with them?” I ask before I can stop myself.

Rhys is silent for a second. And then, “They tried.”

He says nothing more.

I ignore that nagging feeling in my gut, that apprehensiveness.

“I want to ask you something,” Rhys says suddenly. “Although, as always, you are free to decide on your own what to do.”

I look towards him, already knowing what he’s about to say. Rhys didn’t only come here personally just because it was convenient, because his mate was absent. The real reason why he decided to come meet us-

“I need you to speak to her – Nesta,” he says, his words strained. “As my emissary, I should ask her myself. But I believe you have a better chance at getting her to come with us to Summer.”

My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. “You think?”

And – surprisingly – it’s Azriel who speaks next. “Her situation is too delicate to be handled through cordial discussion,” he says. His eyes turn to me, and I’m taken aback by the emotion in them. “We all feel for her, Cassian. But Nesta is…”

“Difficult,” Rhys completes, as if I don’t already know.

“I tried,” I say, my words harsher than I expect, than I intent. “You know I’ve tried.”

“Try again,” Rhys asks. “If her sisters can’t get to her, maybe you can.”

I know what they’re implying – without even poking in Rhys’ mind, I can clearly see a bloody image of myself, laying down in the mud, and Nesta covering my body, my lips covering hers. They know what happened as well as I do. But if they believe-

“This is not me taking advantage of your…relationship to benefit our visit. Do not get me wrong,” Rhys says. “This is me asking you to talk to her because you have cracked some of her shell, and maybe you can help her. Feyre doesn’t know what to do anymore, she’s desperate, too.”

I turn my face away. “Do you honestly think I haven’t gone to her?” My blood boils. I try to keep my voice from shaking, my teeth from clenching. “I counted the times she slammed that door on my face.”

I’m not ready to give up on Nesta. But helping someone who doesn’t want to be helped…it’s tricky business. And in this case, it’s me – a tiny little rabbit – knowingly walking into a wolf lair.

Rhys is silent. I can sense his regret, his guilt.

“I shouldn’t have suggested it,” he says. “I’m sorry. I’ll talk to her myself.”

“No,” I say, too quickly. My brothers look at me. I force my features to look calm. “I’ll go talk to her.”

“Are you sure?” Azriel asks.

No, I’m not sure.

What I’m sure about is that I want to do everything in my power to help her, though I have no idea how. What I’m sure about is that I don’t want anyone – any male – that isn’t me in her chambers. Even mated ones.

The realization strikes me in the face. That I could think and feel that way about my own brothers…that I can thing about that way about her-

I shake the feeling off me.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I say. We’ve reached the end of the woods now. The mountain ends in a cliff, the harsh waters below unforgiving as they clash against the stones. I flex my arms, wings flaring behind me. “I’ll go.”

My brothers do the same, preparing their wings for flight. They both look at me.

I say, “What if she refuses?” 

“We will not force her to come,” Rhys says. “It’s her call to make.”

“So why ask at all if there’s little chance she will agree?”

“All of Prythian knows her as emissary to the Night Court,” he explains. “As we are currently trying to repair our alliance with Tarquin, it would be seen as suspicious if not all members of my circle were there.”

“They also know her story,” I point out. “Wouldn’t Tarquin understand if-?”

“We can hope so,” Rhys says. “Like I said, even if she declared she wanted to keep the position – I will not order her around. Not for our benefit.”

I know his words are true.

But I snort anyway and say, “I don’t think you could order her around – even if you wanted to try. No one could.”

Rhys shoots me a smile, “That’s true. I think it’s the only thing the three Archeron sisters have in common.”

Azriel is silent beside us – and I know Rhys doesn’t need to slip into his mind to find out who’s keeping him that way. We both know. Neither one of us question him.

With a run to give us more impulse, the three of us plunge into the seemingly endless abyss. Then we shoot up into the skies, and we fly home, each one of us with a different face in mind.

***

I can feel her there on her own.

Despite being on the grounds of the House of Wind, looking up into her balcony, there is still a faint scent, one so characteristically hers, around the area, amongst the fallen, dry leaves and the dying flowers. I refrain from closing my eyes and breathing it in.

I wonder if she feels me, too. If she can sense my presence, my scent. I don’t wonder for long.

Then I debate whether or not I should be approaching her from her balcony – if that isn’t worse than knocking on her door from the inside. After all, she could slam her balcony doors on my face too, if she wished. Either way, I’m going to try one more time, and I will not push her.

I tell myself I will walk away. I will force my feet out of her balcony, my body away from hers.

I didn’t even take a shower – or comb my hair.

When has that bothered you?

Sighing, I lift myself off the ground and landed quietly on the edge of the balcony, tracing the closed windows, the closed doors. I realize she knows I’m here – there’s a sharp intake of breath, a harsh closing of a book. I hear her getting up, irregular steps around the room.

Now or never, I guess.

Gently, praying, I knock.

I’m not done with my second knock when the doors to her balcony open.

I was not prepared, I realize.

I’m not prepared for the scent that hits me like a punch to the gut. I’m not prepared for the tight braids atop her head, the gentle curls on her temples, framing her face. I’m not prepared for the long, pale blue dress – simple, but so elegant on her – hugging her waist perfectly, then flowing down in soft waves. The tight lace hugs her arms, right up to her wrists, ending in the back of her hand, right over her middle finger.

I’m not prepared for the blue-grey eyes that glare up at me. The sharp jawline, clenched and tense. I want to take that jaw line and trail kisses all over it. Bite it.

She sees me staring and does nothing, doesn’t close the door on my face, but doesn’t open it, either.

“Yes?” She says, clearly impatient.

And because I’m a coward, and because I’m sure she can hear my heart pounding in my chest, I curl my lip into a smile I know she hates, and say, “I have news.”

“I’m busy.”

“Clearly.”

Her eyes burn me at the sarcasm in my tongue. “Say it.”

“You’re being impolite, Nesta.” I say her name for the first time and I see the slight widening of her eyes, even though her features remain sharp – focused. “Aren’t you going to let me in, offer me to sit down with a cup of tea, so we can discuss some things?”

She eyes me strangely. Like she doesn’t understand me – like she can’t believe I’m at her door again, when nights ago she slammed it on me. She eyes me like she doesn’t want to understand me, either, which – fair enough. And yet she is still talking to me, half her body hidden behind the door.

“Say what you want to say and get it done with,” she snarls. “Like I said, I’m busy.”

And that’s when it hits me.

Why she’s half-hidden.

Why she refuses to open her door one more fraction of an inch.

It hits me, anyway, especially as the breeze flows by.

That scent.

My heart stops dead in my chest, my mind goes blank. All my focus, all my thoughts go to it, every fibre of my being is focused on that scent on her -

Every brutal instinct is brought to the surface, poking at me just enough that I have to grip the door frame, so as not to touch her. The roaring in my ears intensifies, and all I want to do is sink on my knees and dig my fingers on those thighs – those full thighs so close to me.

And I know she sees it on all on my face, on my eyes, as I trail my gaze over her body. And I shouldn’t-I shouldn’t-

And yet I still look.

I still grip the wooden frame, so hard that it groans beneath my hand. She follows the movement with her own wide eyes – for she understands what I understood, what I saw – scented – on her.

Mixed with her own usual scent – arousal.

It takes every bit of strength not to step in and take her in my arms. It takes every bit of self-control not to let myself go, to keep myself from giving in to my instincts.

There isn’t anybody else’s scent on her, in her room – I don’t detect any. And I hate myself for being relieved. I hate myself because I don’t know what I would do if there was.

Nesta swallows with difficulty. I see the shame coating her cheeks. She says only two words, in a hiss, in a whisper, “Get out.”

I stand my ground. I regain my composure – as little as I have left – and I make myself smile. Wide. I make it teasing – because I know it rattles her – and I make myself balanced, not willing to melt before her eyes. Because if she’s going to kick me out – I might as well make the most of my time.

This is what most of our interactions consist of, nowadays – barely talking, her glaring at me at the dinner table whenever she catches me watching her. Passing each other in the halls with teasing remarks from my part and cutting remarks from hers – it’s the only way I can speak to her. It’s the only way I can reach her – the bickering, the teasing. It’s all I have for now.

And I cannot delude myself to believe I don’t enjoy it. Part of me wants nothing more than to crack her open to me, unravel her brain and see all the darkest parts of her. Comfort her. Love her. And yet-

She refuses to let me in, and keeps hiding herself behind her walls made of titanium ice. So I do the same – I play my part, and I play it well.

I annoy the shit out of her. Put some emotion on her face – even if it’s anger. She seems to love to hate it.

“Busy, indeed,” I remark, licking my lips. Her eyes follow that movement, too. But her cheeks are stained red – with anger, with shame, I can’t really tell – and her face remains deadly. I go right for the throat, “Been enjoying yourself, sweetheart?”

Her eyes are livid. But as she steps towards me, as she prepares herself to scream at me senseless – she pushes the door open, unconsciously, and I catch a glimpse- 

A book on a chair near the crackling fireplace.

My level of interest shoots to the skies.

“How dare-!”

And I ignore her, stepping around her body, and I stride into her room. I’m aware of the line I’m crossing – if she says the word, I’m leaving. But for now – for now, I enjoy the sight of her bedroom. It’s spotless, everything in its right place, everything neatly organized. For a second, I feel as if I’m stepping into her mind. She has a collection of books to my right – ones I believe she brought with her the first time she came here. I wonder if there are parts of her childhood in there, if she finds them bittersweet.

“What are you doing?” She asks, her voice shrill, crossing her arms and putting as much distance between me and her as she possibly can.

I pick up the book she’s been reading and my eyes scan over a marked page, then a passage. “‘He trailed his lips over her bare thighs, and, as much as she tried, she could not keep her body still on the mattress. When his lips finally touched-“

“Stop!”

She walks to me, and I turn around, keeping the book away from her hands. “-touched her core, she screamed in delight’. Screaming? Good mother, how violent-“

“Don’t you dare say another word,” she snarls, grabbing my arm and trying to reach for the book. She’s on her tiptoes. “Give me the damn book!”

I oblige, smirking down at her. She yanks it off my hands – and hits me with it. Hard.

“Wh-OW, why-!?”

“How dare you,” she fumed, pulling away from me and walking to her bookshelf. “How dare you invade my privacy like that.”

And I feel bad – truly. And I apologize.

“I don’t care. Get out of my room.”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” I say, trying to keep the smile off my face. “Not of me.”

She turns at the words, hands touching her elbows. “I’m not-“

“I must say, though, your choice in literature is questionable. There are some amazing, top-notch erotica in the library – and the plots don’t actually suck. You could try find some there. Or, if you prefer, I’ll find some for you.”

She looks at me and I’m not sure she’s going to burst out laughing or punch me in the face or both. Instead she barks, “I didn’t know you could read.”

I know it’s meant to be an insult – a pouring of salt in old wounds – but it doesn’t sound that way. It doesn’t have any feeling in it.

“Even bastard-born brutes can sometimes read, Nesta.” I smile, despite myself.

“How surprising, I had no idea.”

“Well – there’s your big revelation of the day.”

Her eyebrows furrow and her gaze is supposed to be furious – but it’s a diminished fury. Like she’s out of it and way too tired to try and gather some to shoot at me.

Then I take notice of the untouched cup of tea and sandwiches on her dresser. I take notice of her thin arms, holding herself. I take notice of the dark circles under her eyes – and any amusement is gone. Any feeling besides remorse, besides sadness – is gone. All gone.

And as she watches me, her face seems to be wiped off that remaining annoyance – and she’s no longer grimacing or frowning. It’s not any brighter, but more neutral than cold, and yet the way she looks at me-

I cross the room in two steps.

Nesta turns her face away from me, yet her body does not move. She does not move away from me as I take her hand in mine.

She looks down, and I feel her slight apprehension at the feel of my skin against hers. I feel it too. I’m trying not to breathe, being this close to her, because if I take a whiff at that scent this close, I think I might lose it.

“I’m not here to insult your taste in literature or piss you off,” I say, my voice low. “I swear it.”

She pulls her hand away, her back against the bookshelf. “Then why?”

She pulls her hand away like she wants to walk away from me. She always walks away. And there’s no feeling to her voice. It’s a mechanic sound, and it bothers me.

I haven’t confronted her about what happened in the war – about us, about her father. I can’t help feeling as though, for the latter, it is not my place to interfere. I know her pain. I know the look in her eyes every time she’s eating dinner – or pretending to – and I know she remembers. It’s like the memory comes to her like a slap in the face, abrupt and hurtful. I see it, the way she flinches, the way her eyes look down at her plate, her hand suspended gripping her fork. 

I see it.

I wish she could see me seeing it. So she’d know that I know – that I understand why she pushes me away, every time. That I understand not to insist. I hope she can see that I’m trying.

“There was a messenger today,” I say, and my voice sounds too raspy in my ears, too intoxicated by her. I try to keep it even. “From the Summer Court. We are expected.”

Her eyes lift up to meet mine – apprehension again.

“Why?” She asks.

“To remedy our past. To secure a relationship with Summer, an alliance.”

“The war is over,” she says, shaking her head. And as she does, I can hear the higher pitch of her voice, the way her eyes flash in panic.

“It is important to have ties and allies, anyway,” I respond, even though I know she understands, and her fear has to do with something else. “Just in case.”

“He wants me to go. He’s send you to talk to me.”

Her sharp mind never fails to understand. I pause. I say, “Yes.”

“That’s why you’re here.”

“I wanted to come here.”

Her lips part at the emphasis I put on the word – as if she wants to say something else. But she doesn’t. She keeps looking at me with the same intensity, like she’s trying to read me.

Her eyes have always been more grey than blue – so different from Feyre’s. And they don’t turn away from me this time.

“Rhysand merely means to ask you to come, as emissary. You are not obligated to go, if you don’t wish to.”

But I want you to. Because I’m selfish. And I don’t know if I can be away from you that long.

She nods like she doesn’t believe me. “Then why isn’t he the one here? Why send you?”

“I said I’d come.”

“They think you have some kind of leverage over me?” 

“It’s not about that,” I argue. “I’m here because I want to be here-“

“You’ve said that, and I don’t believe you.”

“Too fucking bad,” I hissed. She doesn’t flinch, even when I lean in. “Because it’s the truth.”

I’m angry now.

I’m angry at her, at myself – at Rhys, for putting me up to this.

I’m angry at my body that wants nothing more than be close to hers. I’m angry at my mind, that is full of smoke and blank pages waiting to be filled, wanting to be filled with her and images of her and sounds of her voice.

I’m angry and I’m frustrated and I want her.

Her spine straightens. Our closeness doesn’t bother her, not anymore. When she speaks, her voice is a taunting whisper, “They believe you’ll swoon me enough to want to go, and play my part, wear a mask.”

“You already wear a mask every other day, sweetheart, it won’t be so different.”

I’m angry and I’m frustrated – and ashamed at the bitterness of those words. It came out wrong, I realize as soon as the words leave my mouth. And yet I don’t take them back. They are the truth, and I want her to know them.

Nesta looks like she’s considering smacking a hand on my cheek, but she doesn’t move. Her eyes burn mine. Her voice has a cruel undertone, “They want me to play nice. I’m not nice.” 

“Pretend, since you’re so good at it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She bites back, her teeth clenched.

Let her figure it out.

Let her dwell on it, for all I care.

Her eyes narrow at me. A challenge.

And you know what-

No. She wants an explanation – she’s going to get one.

I lean further down, close enough to share breath, and Nesta’s head presses against the wooden bookshelf. There is rage filling her eyes, but there is something else, also. That male beast inside me is pleased. 

“I mean,” I say, reminding myself not to breathe in. Not to look down at the generous breasts almost pressing into my chest. “I mean,” I repeat, eyes searching hers, “that you’re a good pretender. You pretend every day that you’re not hurt by what happened, that you’re not scarred. That you’re not terrified. But I see you, Nesta Archeron. I see you as you really are, as you really feel, and I know that under all that bitchiness and all that façade you put up for everyone, for me, there is a woman who feels something.A woman who wants me. In more ways than one.”

She doesn’t seem shocked.

Instead, she designs a cruel, mocking smile. “Of course. Because that’s the mentality of all you males. Of course a woman has to want you. Of course her life has to revolve around you-“

My hand grips the shelf right beside her head. Her voice quietens. “You know this isn’t about that.” My eyes go straight to her lips, to those plump, full lips I’d love to claim, and back to her eyes. I find pleasure in knowing I’m rattling her. Her breath picks up, her mouth parts. No hand stops me as I lean into her ear and whisper, “Prove me wrong.”

“Presumptuous, arrogant, filthy-“

I laugh against her ear, and I feel her body loosen. My other hand comes to grip the shelf too, and I’m so close to her, so close, and I have no idea how we got here, how we got to one point of the conversation to this, and how-

Her hands are at her sides, and I see her fingers itching to do something. I look into her eyes, and find them on my lips. Just for a fraction of a second. And then they are on mine.

“I want-“

“Me?”

“-you to go fuck yourself.”

“My, my, Miss Archeron, those books you read have been teaching you some foul language, indeed.”

Push me away. Say the word.

She knows I would get off her as soon as she’d tell me so. She knows it – and she says nothing. There is conflict in her, I notice, in her eyes as she gazes up at me, as she tries to look away.

I take her chin between two fingers and her breath hitches. I lift those blue-grey eyes that always look grey to me, and I whisper, “Do you want me to go?”

I cut all the amusement from my voice. I’m asking her a serious question, and I want her to answer it.

She forms the words in her mind – I see it in her eyes. Her lips part to say them. Yet she doesn’t.

I refrain from smiling.

“I’m not terrified,” she shoots at me, but her voice is distracted. “I’m not scared of anything.”

“Everyone’s scared of something. The most powerful person in the world is scared of something.”

“Not me.”

“Liar.”

“Don’t call me a liar,” she snarls in my face.

“You’re lying to me, and you’re lying to yourself when you say it’s better to live like this, in solitude, than accept the help you’re given. The help I’ve given you.”

“I’m fine, thank you.” Her tone is anything but grateful.

My thumb traces her chin. Her eyelashes kiss her cheeks as she looks down at the gesture – then back to me. I whisper to her, “Alright. Tell me to go.”

I let go of her abruptly. She seems disoriented.

“Tell me to go,” I repeat.

Her eyes flash to me – anger, disappointment, doubt. It’s all I see. I want it all gone.

“Do you think I do not see you?” I say, coming closer again against my wishes. “The way your eyes get empty the second you’re around them? The way you struggle to eat? To sleep? To speak? Tell me something, Nesta,” I come even closer, pressing her against the bookshelf. My hands are on her waist and she doesn’t stop me. Her eyes flutter. “Do you see me as anything more than a bastard-born brute who does not deserve to breathe the same air as you?”

Nesta breathes in, looks down at my hands on her waist, looks up to me. And I feel, I see, those walls crack in her eyes. I feel her body taut and loose in all the right places. I see the flush on her neck, on her cleavage.

“No.”

The word surprises me, shocks me, even. I blink at her, expecting something more, something else. She says nothing. Her chin is high, mouth set in a tight line – as if she’s daring me.

“What do you see me as?”

And I make the mistake – I make the mistake to breathe in. And gods – she smells so sweet. So strong, this close. I don’t know if she’s as lost in me as much as I’m lost in her, but all I know is that I came to this room with a purpose and I no longer can remember it. There is nothing beyond her scent, the feel of her body, those eyes on my face, on my lips, tracing my skin.

And I know she can feel it – that change between us, in the air. Her hands come to rest on my arms. They’re weightless – a featherlike touch that burns me to the core.

I press against her.

Nesta gasps, the feel of my body against her too much. Her hands squeeze my arms as my neck cranes to lean down. Instantly, she turns her head, exposing her throat to me. I’m so crazed with the feel of her pressed against me that I don’t hesitate – I touch my lips to the skin.

Her eyes shut, her lips part and she lets out a long breath. She’d been holding it, I notice. Part of my mind is preoccupied with the fact that she’s not pulling away, but pulling me closer, urging me on. The other part of my mind doesn’t care about anything but the way she tastes, the way she pulls her head back against the bookshelf to give my mouth space to explore.

The taste of her skin drives me half-mad.

I grip the piece of furniture hard behind her, keeping that leash tight around myself. Because even though my body is telling me to take, take and never stop taking, the sensible half of me knows perfectly well I will not cross that line. Not with her – not right now. Not until she asks me to.

It’s torture, having her this close to me. Feeling her little puffs of breath against my ear, her caress over my arms. I ask myself whether she’s feeling it too – that frantic pull towards me that prevents her from walking away. That makes her want me as much as I want her.

I kiss all the way down her throat, and she’s breathing hard against me. She smells of roses, of an early morning breeze at the start of winter – she smells of desire. I want to leave my own scent all over her.

And then Nesta presses her body to mine, and it’s a dance between us both – she pulls at my shoulders, turning her head to the side, indicating where she wants my lips.

I oblige her.

My tongue darts out, mouth closing around the spot where her neck meets her shoulder. Squeezing the shelf behind her is all I can do to keep myself gripping this world when she lets out a breathless moan. A little sound, barely audible – but a sound that sinks its claws into me nonetheless. Without barely registering it, I roll my hips into hers.

Her forehead falls on my shoulder, her body’s reaction to me absolutely delicious to watch. Her leg itches up, dragging along my thigh, and I grab her behind the knee, gently lifting, harshly pushing her against that wall. She gasps again when I align myself with her – my centre against hers – and, to my delight, her own hips caress mine.

At the feel of her, albeit over her clothes, I’m a broken male. The sound that comes out of me is purely animal. Nesta’s nails dig into the skin of my shoulders, and I’m forced to look at her.

She’s the most beautiful creature in the world.

Her lips are parted, her eyes half-closed, her cheeks rosy and burning. I can feel every breath she takes, every beat of her heart. I want her lips. But without meeting my gaze, her mouth closes on my jaw.

Nesta’s teeth graze my skin, and I’m praying to the mother, I’m praying to all the gods that bother to hear me, to give me some kind of strength, some kind of restraint. This woman will end up killing me and it’s my own fault.

“Nesta,” I murmur.

She isn’t listening – her lips move to my neck and, as if by instinct and not my own free-will, I thrust into her. Her fingers dig into my scalp and her thighs clench around me as she feels me – the entirety of me – against her, wanting, ready. We’re two animals, with no other senses but primal ones, wanting nothing else but each other. The hand that was on her knee trails up the outside of her thigh, fingers squeezing, and I can feel the path of her skin warming, getting hotter and hotter as I come close to the centre, almost there-

“No.”

One word, and I pull my hand back. One broken, whispered syllable, and I’m putting her back on the ground, as gently as I can. My eyes are closed, and breathing is difficult.

Her hand drops from my hair.

“I’m…” I try to say, but it comes out as a pained groan, and I don’t know how to form words.

I open my eyes to see her clenching her legs together, to see her swallow down her next words. I thought she’d look ashamed, angry, even. She’s isn’t ashamed to touch me, neither is she angry that I touched her the way I did. But her face showed – confusion.

I know she remembers that day – that first day when my mouth touched her skin – as clearly as I do. I see the images pass by her eyes one by one.

“I’m sorry,” I manage to blurt out. “I promised myself I wouldn’t lose control-“

“I was the one that lost control,” she says, as if she’s talking to herself and not to me. Her eyes refuse to meet mine.

“I shouldn’t have-“

“I wanted you to,” she interrupts, her voice strained. I can feel her pulling away from me, wall by miserable wall. I feel that vulnerability disappear slowly, as the seconds tick away. I’m not a fool to try and make it stay. To try and keep those walls down.

But her confession – it awakes something else inside me. Something besides that primal instinct that tells me to take her, right now, against that bookshelf.

I wanted you to.

Nesta lifts her chin again, sets her spine straight. She looks at me, but she doesn’t look at me. “Tell your High Lord I’ll consider.”

For a moment, I have no idea what she’s talking about.

And then I remember. Like a bucket of ice water fell over me.

“Alright.”

Her eyes tell me to go. So I pull away. Every part of my body hurts at that. I ignore it.

I ignore everything else – the longing I saw in her eyes when I looked up at her, my own longing of her, clearly evident. I ignore it all. But because I want this to last, I stupidly say, “I’ll get you one of those books I was talking about.”

She doesn’t smile. She wraps her arms around herself, and I think that if I were her, I’d want to kick my own face. I shouldn’t have touched her like that. Not when she was still haunted by memories of another man who disappointed her.

“Nesta-“

“Please just go.”

“Don’t push me away like that. Not after this.”

“This? What do you think this was?”

I have no answer, so I keep silent.

“This was nothing,” she says, crossing her arms.

My eyes snap to her and – caldron save me – I know, I know I’m adding wood to the fire, but I say, “You just admitted to wanting me.”

“Not you.”

And her words sting, like they’re supposed to.

Not you. Just the touch. Doesn’t matter that it was from me.

I smile – and it’s a cruel one, too. I can’t help it. “Keep deceiving yourself, Nesta, sweetheart.”

And before she can answer, I turn away.

I don’t expect her to follow me to the balcony – but she does. I don’t care. My wings flare behind me, and my eyes are set to the horizon. I want to fly to it. I want to fly to the ends of the earth and never come back.

“Don’t you dare,” she bellows, “call me that again.”

And because I’m a masochist, I turn around. I stare her down. “You came all the way from there to shout at me? Careful, sweetheart. That might show you actually give a shit. And we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

She stomps towards me and I don’t move. I think she’s going push me off the railing, but then-

But then she’s staring up at me, as if she’d really do it, and opens her mouth to shout, scream, insult-

I have no idea.

And then she closes her mouth, no longer looking at me.

But at my wings.

And it takes me a second to realize why. On my left, there’s a nasty scar going from the tip to the membrane. And Illyrians rarely have perfect, clean wings, but-

It makes me uncomfortable, her staring. I tuck it away, behind me.

Nesta blinks, as if she’s just waking up from a daydream, and stares at me. There’s something I can’t describe on her face, and there’s something she wants to say and doesn’t.

Either way, she no longer wishes to push me down, off the balcony. Her shoulders are tense, her mouth parted. And when I think she’s going to say something, she turns her back to me abruptly.

I’m left staring after her, staring at the door she slammed.

I work my jaw, I turn away. I slip off the balcony, soaring high in the air, with no direction, no intention to go anywhere but up and away. I was stupid to think it’d turn out any other way. It never does.

She always walks away.


	2. Chapter 2

Nesta

What are you doing?

My body is slick with sweat. Fire coats my veins, and drags its sharp claws along the surface of my skin. I am sprawled on the bed, hair clinging to my forehead, my cheeks, and it’s an effort to keep myself still.

What were you thinking?

I turn in the sheets and face the high, adorned ceiling, one hand pushing back the sticky strands away from my face. I cannot sleep. I can barely breathe in this room.

And it’s only the second gods-damned night.

The Inner Circle winnowed to the Summer Court two days ago, and, so far, it seems the tension has eased between the two courts and High Lords. In their own words, the war has given them a new perspective not only on their relationship, but on what their priorities should be, where their focus should lie. It was time, they said, to forgive and forget, to seek friendship and alliance, and let the past die in favour of a brighter, unified future for Prythian.

It was all complete and utter bullshit.

Even as we sat down at a long dinner table on the main balcony, exposed to the elements and the most splendid view to Tarquin’s private beach; even as Rhysand and Feyre explained their reasons behind their actions the last time they were here – I could still feel that unsettling suspicion lingering between them. Everybody did. Even Elain sat straighter next to me, her jawline and shoulders impossibly tense. Although, one look and a reassuring nod from her Illyrian – Azriel – seemed to be enough to relax her.

I still don’t know what to make of it – their relationship. I don’t know what Elain intends to do about the other one. Her mate. Even thinking of the word makes my stomach turn, makes me scoff without any amusement. Just the thought that the autumn prick might feel entitled to my sister, or make her feel guilty about preferring another-

And yet, it does not seem like it is the case so far. Elain did not seem the least fazed about his leaving for the Spring Court, did not ask whether his stay would be long or short. She wished him a safe journey, he kissed her hand and wished her well – and then he just left. He let her be. No demands, no promises given.

And even though it is not my place to meddle – I am happy for Elain. I am grateful for her heart, which seems to only grow fuller each passing day, and seems to be healing just fine after Graysen. And, admittedly, I’m satisfied to see that my sister did not choose to settle with her supposed mate. Elain was making her own choices, following her own heart, and, most importantly, she looked…joyous. And if Azriel is the reason for it…then I have no motive to look at him with anything other than gratefulness in my eyes.

At dinner, Tarquin made no mention of the war, for which I was secretly grateful. Or, if he did, I certainly was not paying attention. Their conversations floated around, in and out of me, without me really paying much attention. Despite that slight apprehension between them, Rhysand and Feyre felt like they were amongst friends, drinking and laughing. The Illyrians chatted away, their voices loud and exuberant, mixed with animated responses from the females present. Even Amren seemed to be having the time of her life, exchanging glances and whispers with the prince.

I, however, felt like I was watching them from the outside, like an invisible fence had been built between me and the rest of that lively, seemingly happy world.

Maybe I had built that fence.

I did not know how to begin to destroy it.

I did not know if I wanted to.

As I watched them, I wondered if any of them looked at each other without seeing their faces caked with blood. I wondered how they were able to push those memories away. That pain away. 

I wish I had denied their request. I wish I had said no to both Rhysand and Feyre. I was close to – but then the look that crossed Feyre’s eyes made me stop and reconsider. That…desperation, that hopelessness in her eyes made me change my mind. My conscience couldn’t bear that look. And it was the least I could do after…after all these months. But observing them all at dinner, looking at him-

I turn my pillow in hopes the other side feels cooler against my burning cheek.

What were you thinking?

Another failed attempt at closing my eyes, for the feel of his lips against my skin will not leave me. I know if I force them closed, all I will see is him – his face, his lips. Those lips parting to say my name. To moan against my ear-

I can’t, for the life of me, shake him off.

I shouldn’t have let him touch me like that. I shouldn’t have wanted it, that hand near where I needed him, those lips so, so close to my breasts, those hips against mine, circling. But I did want him. My reality it’s just that: I want him. Every hour of the day.

My thighs press together at the memory.

I can still feel the taste of his skin on my tongue. Feel the strength of his hips thrusting into mine, like he just needs to have me, and can’t possibly wait to undress me.

My hand drifts down my stomach, smoothing over the thin nightgown. My eyes close against my will.

There’s no denying it to myself that I would’ve let him yank the clothes off me and just devour me against that wall. I almost begged him for it. And then my name, my name on his lips in a breathless whisper, his voice dripping with want for me, and only for me-

My hand stops just over my undergarments, hesitating. I clench my hand, open my eyes. My mouth, too, parts on its own.

The things I said-

“Don’t push me away like that. Not after this.”

“This was nothing.”

Liar.

I am nothing but a filthy liar.

He was right on one thing – indeed, I was a good pretender. Too good. Good enough to deceive even myself.

It shouldn’t have happened. It shouldn’t-

And yet I find myself wishing he was here right now. I find myself missing him even though I see him every single day. I miss him in the light hours and I especially miss him when the sky is painted black. The roughness of his voice, the handsomeness of his smile, the cackle of his laughter, echoing through my bones, making the coldest parts of me warm again.

I jump from the bed, make my way to the bathroom. I slide my nightgown to the floor, my gaze stuck to the tub. My hands shake just at the sight of it. I turn away in the opposite direction, and head to the shower cabin. Then I turn on the water, at the coldest setting, and I stand there for a good, good while, attempting to push away any thoughts about his lips, his body pressed against mine. I lean my forehead and my hands against the cold stone wall, ignoring that sting inside me that I most certainly do not wish to consider.

But even without trying to – I know what it is, deep down.

Guilt. Regret. Sadness. Shame.

I regret every single insult I threw his way – that evening, and before. I regret them as soon as they come out of my mouth, and I know, I know perfectly well that I don’t deserve him.

I don’t deserve him. I will never deserve him.

Not after everything I said and did to hurt him. And I did it intentionally.

It had worked. I watched him fly off that balcony, leaping into the air fast, hurriedly. I could feel his anger. And part of me hoped that anger lasted, for it was a way to avoid conversation, general interaction. In fact, part of me believed it would, since he barely looks my way now.

He hasn’t spoken a word to me since that afternoon, since we’ve arrived. Barely threw a glance my way.

And I’m glad and disappointed, relieved and angry. Not at him – but at my selfishness. Wanting to push him away and then wanting to drag him back to me whenever he leaves. It’s wrong. It’s so wrong.

I do not deserve him.

So I empty my mind and I step out of the tub, letting the water drip off me and into the floor. It has done nothing to calm me, so I put on a robe without towelling myself, and head to the balcony.

Adriata is a beautiful city. But here, even the nights are bright. It’s a different darkness from the one seen in the Night Court – there, the nights are completely black, setting a stark contrast with the incandescent, shining stars. Utterly beautiful, breath-taking, even. In the Summer Court, however, the skies are dark blue at most, the stars are soft, pale lights in the sky, and it never seems to be sufficiently dark here, only drifting between daylight and twilight.

A court of light, indeed.

When I lean my arms against the railing, I almost push myself off and run back inside.

A movement catches my eye from below me, to my right, and that’s when I see him – bare-chested, bare-feet. His only item of clothing are loose, brown pants that don’t reach his ankles. His wings are dragging on the ground as he looks out into the sea from the balcony of his own room, one story down.

It’s like he knows.

It’s like he feels me from there-

And maybe I’m delusional from being so sleep-deprived, but when he looks up, I don’t turn away.

I stare right back.

I take notice of my appearance then – my hair is loose, falling over my shoulders down to my waist and dripping, soaking the satin gown. I don’t have it in me to feel embarrassed anymore, not with him, not after everything.

Cassian.

His eyebrows are furrowed.

He has one hand on the railing, the other beside him, fingers clenching, then unclenching. I know he has not forgiven me – and it’ll be a long time before he does. If he ever does.

The realization that I actually crave and need it – his forgiveness – as much as his body, slaps in the face and leaves me nauseous.

I want to know what he’s thinking as he stares up at me with that amount of intensity. I can’t read in his eyes. I want to know what he’ll do if I tell him – if I try to tell him to come to me. What I’ll do.

Darkness take me.

I’m frozen in place.

Cassian Cassian Cassian.

My heart is thunder claps echoing through the marble pillars around us. I know he can hear it. I can hear his.

Come to me.

He turns away from me.

And leaves.

My hands clasp the railing hard enough to break. I feel the stone against my skin – feel how easy it would be to bring it all down. To bring this whole palace down with me, crumble it to pieces like me.

I feel like I’ve just fallen two hundred thousand feet into ice waters.

Being inside the cauldron, when I was…turned – I thought that’s what it felt. Dying.

I was mistaken. I was so, so wrong.

This is what death feels like. Cold and lonely. Watching him walk away-

“Cassian.” His name leaves my lips in a broken whisper, before I can stop it.

I deserve it.

I’ve done the same to him, haven’t I? How many times, exactly? I’ve lost count. Has he?

I don’t know how much time passes, how long I’ve stood here, frozen in place. My hands are shaking and there’s nothing I can do to stop them. Slowly, so slowly, I turn away, I leave the balcony, and I have to lean my body against the door frame, because I can barely stand, I can’t feel my own legs.

But then there’s a knock on my door and my heart almost falls out of my mouth. I’m afraid it’s him because I want it to be him, I’m so full of hope it’s going to be him-

There’s no more. Just two knocks. And then silence.

I stare at the door as I clumsily and shakily walk to it, my bare feet silent against the stone floor. Slowly, I open it, terrified, petrified at what I might see.

But there’s no one.

I look down – a book on the floor.

My head turns left and right on the dark corridor, but when I breathe in I smell him everywhere. It’s a scent so strong, so powerful, so overwhelming, that clutching the book is all I can do to keep myself in check and not run after him.

I close my door and lean against it, tracing the cover with my fingers. I have no idea where he got this, if he brought it here with him and intended on giving it to me all along.

The Sound of the Wind

That’s what the cover reads, from an author I do not recognize, but who is certainly fae-born. I open it, dragging my fingers over the smooth edges, the thin paper inside. It’s a lengthy one, heavy too, but it feels good in my hands. After days of not touching a book, it feels…reassuring. It calms my heart, my mind, almost instantly.

“I’ll get you one of those books I was talking about.”

My eyes skim the first few pages and I must really be delirious and highly sleep-deprived, but it looks like a romance novel.

A gods-damned romance novel.

I look towards the door as if I might see him there, smirking at me. I shake my head to myself, look down at the pages once more. I skip the introduction, opening it on the first chapter – and a note falls into my hands.

His calligraphy is small and messy, and I have to squint my eyes to understand the short phrase.

An old favourite – might become yours, too.

I stare at the words, unlinking. And, indeed, when I look at the page, there are messily underlined sentences and, occasionally, whole paragraphs under the first chapter. I skip some pages, and then some more and it’s clear that this book was well-loved.

I try to find it in myself to understand that Cassian – the Cassian I know – was indeed quite serious when he told me he’d pick up books for me – these types of books – even if I hadn’t asked him to.

I didn’t ask him to. And yet-

I don’t know how or when he got this – and, at the moment, I don’t care. I fold the note carefully, and I make myself comfortable on the bed. I light a candle quickly, and then I open the book to Chapter One.

I finish the whole book in the same night.

***

“Come with me.”

The next morning, Feyre finds me sitting on my own in the front gardens just after breakfast. She carries what appears to be a large kit of paint and brushes.

“Where are we going?” I ask her.

“I’m going down to the beach to paint. I could use some company,” she smiles at me. “Come with me. Please.” Slowly, she holds out her other hand to me. And I’m so unbelievably tired that I don’t bother to make a fuss about it – I take her hand, and let my sister lead me to the white sands.

I didn’t get much sleep last night.

And yet – though my eyelids feel impossibly heavy, my mind feels rested. Somewhat at ease. My body no longer feels restless, and impatience no longer strikes me. I haven’t felt this way in weeks, maybe years, even. And I know I want this feeling to last a bit longer, to feel lighter for a while longer, even with the tiredness.

I don’t tell Feyre about last night. About Cassian, about the book. Yet the uncomfortable silence between us forces words out of my mouth, so I attempt to make conversation, keeping it as casual as I possibly can.

“Where has Elain gone to?”

“To explore the caves with Azriel,” Feyre says as we reach a spot secluded by rocks of several difference sizes. A silver-crusted easel is placed in between some smaller ones that make a path to the water. “He took her this morning.”

I shoot her a look.

She notices, even if she isn’t looking at me. “She is perfectly safe with him, Nesta. I would trust Azriel with my mate’s life.”

I watch her pick up the easel and move it to her preference. Once she is satisfied with the view, Feyre digs it onto the sand to secure it, and the rock at her side has the perfect height to hold all her paints.

“Would you like me to paint your portrait?”

“No,” I say, too quickly. Then I force myself to add, “It’s okay.”

I’m too afraid of what I might see.

“Suit yourself.”

I fold the hem of my summer gown, and take off my shoes. Then I sit myself in one of the smoother rocks next to her, and let my bare feet touch the wet sand. A soft breeze comes from the vast, endless ocean, caressing my cheeks, blowing away the curled pieces of hair that managed to escape the bun on top of my head. When I breathe in, all I can smell is salt and algae and peacefulness. The cave behind shelters us both against the bright sunrays, but the temperature continues to be almost unbearable, suffocating.

“I’m happy for her,” I admit quietly, staring off into the distance. “For Elain.”

“So am I,” Feyre says, as she mixes different shades of blue on her palette. “I think they help each other.”

“Do you think she will be able to walk away if she wishes?” I peer up at her. “From the mating bond.”

Feyre doesn’t answer me for a few moments. And then, “Yes. It is possible. With time, she might even come to deny it. There will always be a tug towards Lucien, that can’t be destroyed – but it can be ignored. The link between them doesn’t necessarily have to be of a romantic nature, especially if her heart calls out to another.”

My mind is suddenly racing.

“Does he believe that he owns her?”

“Lucien? No,” Feyre shakes her head. “He would never…I don’t think it will come to that. You saw him saying his goodbyes – there was no….possessiveness about him. I’m sure he feels protective of her, but Lucien wouldn’t force Elain into anything, of that I can assure you. I believe he would let her walk away – if that made her happier.”

He better.

Or he’s going to be digging his own grave sooner than expected.

“So,” I carry on, “what exactly is the purpose of a mating bond, if it can be denied? Or if, for instance, it isn’t…right?”

I watch my sister work as she explains. She doesn’t seem the least shocked about my interest, my willingness to talk after weeks and weeks of silence. “Some believe that mating bonds are simply random, that there’s no real logic behind it. Others say it chooses the two individuals most likely to produce strong offspring.”

“What do you believe?”

Feyre smiles slightly. “I believe that the mating bond calls out to those who are equals in every way. It’s a bond stronger than a regular marriage between two people. It’s…finding your match. The one that challenges you. The one that loves you, unconditionally, and accepts even the darkest parts of yourself. It’s finding the one that will not walk away, even when you think they will.”

There are a million knots on my throat, a thousand more on my stomach. My brain replays the sound of a knock on my door, over and over, making my ears ring.

I attempt to calm my voice. “When did you realize it – what he was to you?”

“I knew before I was told,” she says, every stroke of her brush on the canvas soft, yet precise. “There wasn’t a definite moment where it just…hit me. I fell in love with him slowly, before I even knew what connected us. And when that part of our relationship was revealed…it just made sense to me.”

Feyre stops her movements to look down at me. “Don’t get me wrong, though, it took me a while to get it into my head – that I had a mate.”

“Because of Tamlin?”

The name no longer seems to shift my sister’s eyes, but she still hesitates before answering me. “Not just because of Tamlin. I was the one holding myself back all along because I thought I was selfish to want Rhysand. And I was angry, so angry at him for not telling me. At the time I didn’t think coherently. It didn’t cross my mind that he’d hidden the truth from me so as not to pressure me into anything.” 

I swallow.

“Could you have walked away from him?”

“No,” Feyre says softly. “Not in a million years. Not then, and definitely not now.”

I turn my face away. I make myself stare into that horizon, that endless sea. I think to myself I want nothing more than to jump into that deep blue and swim to the ends of the earth.

“But Elain could?”

“It’s different,” she continues. “With me and Rhys…circumstances led us to working together, to trusting each other. He helped me, Nesta. When things got…bad, he was there and he never asked me for anything in return. When Lucien met Elain…”

She says no more. But I know the rest. I see the rest – flashing images of a boiling cauldron, ripped wings covered in blood, a scarred hand reaching for me, my sisters screaming-

A shudder runs down my spine, and I can’t hide it well enough or fast enough. Her hand stops mid stroke, and my sister looks down at me. I can’t bear to look into her eyes – can’t bear to see that worry, that pity-

“Nesta-” Feyre starts.

Her words get lost in her throat as she takes me in. As she sees my expression. So instead, she says, much livelier, “Tarquin is throwing a party later tonight. Will you join us?”

“I’m not in the mood.”

Feyre shoots me a look.

And I shoot one right back. “Since when do you like attending parties?”

She scoffs, shaking her head at me. Her smile is amused as she retorts, “Since I got mixed up with that weird bunch,” and she points with her thumb to the palace behind us.

I don’t respond.

“Please, Nesta.”

I look up at her. Her skin is already caked with paint, different shades of blue mixed with white and yellow cover her hands, going up to her arms. She turns back to her painting, her gaze upon the water.

“We all want you there.”

I hear it – the emphasis on the word. All of them. And I hear the meaning she places behind it. Frowning, I snap my head to her. “What do you-“

But my sister smiles at the canvas as she says, “I mean exactly what you think.”

I school my features into something close to neutrality. Indifference.

“I see him looking around for you, whenever you’re not there,” she murmurs, as if she’s talking to herself. Slowly, her smile fades. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, Nesta, and you’re in your own right to be private – especially with me – but Cassian-“

“I know what you’re going to say.” 

Her eyes blink down at me.

And I almost don’t say it.

I almost keep quiet. I almost get up and walk away – because that’s what I want to do. That’s what my instinct tells me to do – to run.

But this is the longest conversation I have ever had with Feyre. She has never been a confidant – no one has, really, not even Elain. Especially not my mother. She was always too busy for us and she parted too soon. And then father-

A knife sticks itself into my chest. I refrain from leading my hand to my throat, because I know Feyre can sense it –in my scent – that amount of pain that just shot through my body. And I don’t want to make myself any smaller than I already look.

So I force the words out of my mouth. “He is a good male. I am aware.”

Feyre puts down her brush. Her nails scratch the paint out of her skin as she looks down at me, waiting for me to continue. And the words…they’re so difficult to find, but I try my best.

“But I can’t…” I breathe in, breathe out. I turn my face away. “I can’t. Right now.”

Feyre says nothing for a long time. Then she sits next to me, her arm rubbing against mine. I’m terrified. The panic whirls inside me like a hurricane. Because this – these confessions – make me crumble. I don’t know how to let other people comfort me. I don’t know how to react when Feyre gently places her hand on top of mine. So we just stay quiet for a long, long time, listening to the waves crashing against the stones, the seagulls flying by.

And then, very gently, she says, “I understand.”

And that’s that.

We don’t say anything else. Feyre doesn’t push the subject – and for that, I’m sincerely grateful. I want to tell her as much, but I have a million words to say, and I’m petrified that if I open my mouth right now, she’s going to hear them all.

It’s too soon. It’s still way too soon.

I entwine my fingers with hers. And I squeeze, gently yet firmly, without saying anything. She seems to know what it means, though, for I see her smile from the corner of my eye.

And that’s that.

Indeed, it’s time to forget the past and focus on the future. Deep down…I know it’s for the best.

I’m not sure how long we stay like that, close to one another. But then far away, up in the sky, we see a winged male carrying a loose-haired Elain, her beige gown flowing with the breeze. There’s laughter that reaches us, and Feyre and I keep silent, still holding on, as they fly to one of the mountain tops on our left, far from the place where we’re sitting. I hear Feyre breathe a soft laugh as they descend, as he places our sister down, close the edge of the cliff. I see Elain looking down at the drop below, still holding on to Azriel’s neck. His head never turns away from her.

They kiss.

She wraps her arms tighter around his shoulders. And the Illyrian wraps his own around her small frame. I notice it right away that the shadows that always seem to envelop him – they are completely gone. Not a trail of darkness left behind.

My heart warms. But there’s also a hollow ache I can’t quite place beneath that warmth.

I turn my eyes away to see Feyre staring at me, smiling.

She says, “I want to go see the caves today, too. Barely got time to explore the last time I was here.”

Right. She had been busy lying and stealing and whatnot.

She seems those words in my eyes, for her smile widens – just the tiniest bit –, and there’s a tinge of secret amusement in the slight lift of her mouth, in that sparkle of her eyes.

“I thought your High Lord was supposed to spend the day with the other High Lord.”

“Actually,” Feyre says, getting up. Her canvas and paints lie disregarded, forgotten. She hasn’t let go of my hand, even as she stands. She grins down at me. “I thought we could go together. Just the two of us.”

An invitation – one I’m perfectly allowed to refuse, considering the look she gives me.

I take a breath.

I stand, picking up my shoes. I’m still gripping my sister’s hand as I nod at her, just once. She gives me another smile and, together, shoulder to shoulder, we walk away from the beach.

And that’s that.

***

It is sundown.

Beyond the grand entrance of the Summer Court palace, the front gardens are decorated in blue ribbons spread over the trees. Soft, dim lights that remind me of fireflies were previously placed inside glass jars and are everywhere: hung in the branches, on the grass, making a pathway that leads to a large, round table placed right in the middle of the perimeter, and trailing along until the grass fades and turns into sparkling white sand.

In a corner, a quartet of musicians play strange instruments I have never seen before, and the gentle lullabies embrace the chant of the soft waves in the distance. Some of Tarquin’s court already chat away with decorated wine glasses in hand, painted smiles spread wide. Rhysand and Feyre join him, clutching each other’s waists, looking beyond carefree and happy. My sister wears a light purple dress that hangs just above her knee, and her hair is loose, the curly ends reaching the middle of her back.

And seeing all those people – it sets an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I dismiss it and down my wine in a single gulp – ridiculous. It’s like I have never been to a party before.

Get your shit together.

Servants smile as they pass, and I quickly take another glass and touch it to my lips, urging myself to stop being a coward, and to-

“Nesta!”

Elain hugs me around the waist, her unbound hair tickling my bare arms.

“I’m so happy you decided to come,” she said, smiling wide.

It’s been so long.

It’s been months since I’ve seen Elain this happy, this…excited. And the sight of her fills me with a great amount of joy. I almost want to laugh at her bright eyes and rosy, healthy cheeks.

“I said I would,” I tell her, conjuring a small smile.

She takes my hand in both of hers – they’re so warm. Elain looks at me up at down, her eyes travelling over my pale blue dress. The front falls just below my knee, while the skirt at the back is longer. A silver belt sits over my hips, making the fit tighter.

“You look absolutely stunning,” she says, in a marvelled whisper. “And your hair, oh, Nesta. I love when you wear your hair loose.”

My thumb caresses her hand, and I shake my head at her, my words falling short. “You look perfect – beautiful as always.”

My sister’s smile widens as she takes me in. Then, without another word, she gestures with her head and leads me to the group. Morrigan is the first one to look our way, and her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline as she looks at me. A graceful smile paints her lips as she says, “Look at you.”

I take in her long, red dress and sweetheart neckline, the delicate braids on top of her head and the scarlet lips. Morrigan looks every inch like a queen. And I’m not exactly sure if it’s the wine, or if their compliments are getting into my head, but I say, “Look at you,” right back.

She breathes a laugh, reaching for us. I keep sipping my wine as she leads us to where the High Lord of Summer stands with our court.

Our court.

The words sound strange even in my head.

They make space for us in the circle. When I look up, everyone is smiling at me. Everyone seems happy to see me.

I hadn’t noticed.

I hadn’t noticed the relief painted on their faces. And for a second – for just a fraction of a second – I wonder about the extent of their worry for me these past few months. I wonder if I had, in truth, been more work than I’m worth. And I’m suddenly ashamed at that thought. Ashamed for my behaviour, for shutting out all their smiling faces and gentle words. Ashamed for not being cooperative, for letting the war and the death of my father stand in between me and the people who had tried to help me countless times. Stand between me and my sisters.

I look at towards them, to Feyre and Elain, and I hope they know – I hope they know I’m sorry, I hope they know I’m trying, and I’ll keep trying, and that, no matter how long it takes me, I will be better. I hope they know it, because I can’t seem to form the words, not when everyone keeps staring at me.

I lower my eyes, but then Tarquin is in front of me, gently touching my hand. Slightly startled, I look up into the striking blue eyes of the High Lord.

“I’m happy you could join us, lady,” he says with an easy, polite smile as he leans down to kiss the back of my hand.

My back straightens. I manage a polite smile and a casual tone. “Thank you for the invitation.”

When he turns to another of his courtiers, Elain asks no one in particular, “Has anyone seen Amren? I haven’t seen her since…well, since yesterday.”

Everybody exchanges glances around the group.

“What?” Elain voices, raising a delicate eyebrow.

And it’s Rhysand who speaks. “I don’t think we’re going to see Amren for the rest of our stay here,” he observed, not bothering to hide his smirk behind his glass. “…or Varian.”

“At this point, I don’t think we’ll see her ever again,” Morrigan chides in, giving everyone a look full of hints and insinuations.

“You’re all terrible,” Feyre muses, shaking her head. “Let her be, Mor. You too, don’t look so smug.”

“I’m just making a comment,” Rhysand defends himself, smirk widening as he looks down at my sister. “Amren is allowed to enjoy herself as long as she likes, with whoever she likes.”

“You two just lost your Second for a Prince,” Mor says, sipping the rest of her wind and, in the same movement, grabbing another glass. “Can I be Second now?”

Elain smiles beside me. “I think they make a lovely couple.”

Mor snorts, waving her hand in the air. “If you can call it that.”

“Mor,” Feyre scolds. But there’s a smile on my sister’s face.

“Oh, come on,” Morrigan says. “She likes him – he likes her. They’re pretending not to-“

“Stop meddling, Mor,” Rhysand warns, giving his cousin a half smile.

“I’m not meddling!”

Feyre raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Mor nods, looking away from us. “Yeah…” then her voice turns low. “You know…just until they realize it.”

“Mor.”

“Mor!”

Morrigan rolls her eyes at them both. “You guys are no fun anymore.”

She leaves us with a mocking look over her shoulder, her hips swaying as she walks away.

Feyre shakes her head once more, and her smile only grows by each passing second. She turns to me then, and looks as though she is about to say something when her eyes look up, over my shoulder, to something – someone – behind me.

My heart pounds in my chest when that scent hits me.

And I’m flooded with images of lips and hands and hips and sighs.

The two illyrians join us, and the three brothers cheer at each other, glasses raised high and voices raised higher. I don’t dare to turn my head. I don’t dare to breathe in.

But then I feel his presence behind me as he comes to stand at my other side. Delicately, he touches a hand to my back – just a featherlike touch – and I have to clench my teeth not to jump at the slightest of touches from him. Involuntarily, and disregarding all that’s left of my self-control, I look up to find hazel eyes already gazing down at me.

“Nes,” he nods at me, clinking his glass against mine. His features are brightened up by the rugged smile he wears, by the wicked glint in his eyes. 

There are no Illyrian leathers coating his body – just a simple black tunic and black trousers that hug his body perfectly, making him seem even bigger up close. I try not to let my eyes wonder to the sculpted chest, to the hair tied at the back and the strands that fall on his tan skin.

I feel everybody’s eyes on me – waiting for my reaction.

And what comes out of my mouth is, “Finally decided to come out of your cave?”

His brothers snicker at him, at the comment, and Cassian ignores them both.

I’m surprised.

Pleasantly so.

He looks at me as if nothing happened. Like I hadn’t screamed at him a few days ago or practically kicked him out and away from me. He looks at me with no anger, no grudge, no nothing. He just…smiles.

It’s stupid how relived I feel. How happy I feel that he’s not ignoring me, when he definitely should.

At my comment, his eyes glimmer with that wicked delight I’m used to seeing. He bites back, “Only for you, Nesta, sweetheart.”

Although I see the real answer in his eyes, in his amused smile – You’re one to talk.

I raise an eyebrow up at him. Don’t call me that.

He copies my expression, taunting, mocking me, even. His gaze says, Let’s play, shall we, Nesta?

“Well.” Elain’s voice makes me come back to reality, makes me look her way. His hand is still on my back and I don’t want to stop feeling his touch. “Shall we dance?”

Azriel looks down at her, taken aback.

“Will you dance with me?” She asks, tenderly. A hand raises towards him.

The spymaster’s face lightens up into a smile as he takes her hand. “For as long as you want.”

And away they go, murmuring their excuses, their eyes never leaving each other.

I find Cassian staring at them, too, his expression softening. Then his eyes turn to me, noticing me staring. And I can’t look away. Can’t.

I don’t notice when my sister and her mate slip away. I don’t know if they said something to us, or if they just took one look at us and left. I don’t know – I don’t care. 

His eyes are a universe of colours. Light brown entwined with darker tones and specks of green, little dots of amber- 

We place our empty glasses on a passing servant’s tray at the same time without looking away from one another.

There are so many words – so many things I want to tell him. So many wrongs from my part I need to apologize for, so many lies I told him.

His mouth opens and then closes. He hesitates. And then he says, his voice close to a murmur, “Would you like to dance?”

We’re close, very close. Dangerously close. His hand presses into my back just a little bit more – as if he’s dying to pull me even closer.

Slowly, feeling myself drown in those eyes, I shake my head.

And he huffs a laugh. “Good. Me neither.”

His smile is brighter than a hundred suns put together. I want to touch his face, memorize the outline of those lips with the tip of my fingers – with my own lips.

And maybe it’s because I haven’t pulled away from him, maybe it’s because we’re both encouraged by the wine, but his fingers gently circle my back – a light caress over my dress that leaves me breathless.

“Take a walk with me?”

I nod before I know what I’m agreeing to.

I don’t look behind me as he leads me away from the veranda, as we step into the cool sand. Twilight marries the skies, and we’re left with its dark blue blanket over us. I look towards the dark horizon and there’s no distinguishing sea from sky. My shoes are in my hand as we walk silently, but unlike before – with Feyre – this silence I can bear. It’s comfortable, easy. It’s reassuring.

I’m too conscious about the presence beside me, though. I’m too aware of every breath he takes, every beat of his heart. And I try to open my mouth several times to say-

Say what?

He beats me to it. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with your hair lose.”

And it’s such a random thing to say that I turn my head in his direction. “Yes you have,” I respond. “Just last night.”

My cheeks burn.

They scald as his eyes turn to me. “Oh, so that wasn’t just my imagination. Good to know.”

My steps falter, and I come to a stop. Two steps ahead of me, he stops as well, turning to me. And I take him in – the shape of his body, the angular, sharp jaw, the full lips, parted as he looks at me. The raw power flooding through him-

“That book,” I say, looking up. “Why-“

“Did you read it?”

“I finished it.”

He blinks at me, his mouth closing.

For once, he seems at a loss for words. Funny, so am I. I seem to be at a loss for words more and more lately.

“Why give it to me?”

“Why not?” He shrugs.

I keep silent, daring him with my gaze to elaborate. He knows what I’m asking.

He designs a small smile. “Did you like it?”

I pause. “Yes.” I work my jaw. “Yes, it was…”

“One of the best books you’ve ever read?”

And I try to deny it – truly, but why bother? He reads me better than anyone else. So I just shrug and say, “It’s tragic, though.”

“All great love stories have some kind of tragedy involved,” he says. Then he turns around, hands clasped together at his back, as he walks to the sea. “Or else they wouldn’t be worth reading.”

I follow him.

“I wouldn’t take you for a male who appreciates a romance,” I admit. “Let alone a tragedy.”

He shoots me a look and a half-smile. His teeth are pearly-white against his skin. “Maybe you still have a lot to learn, sweetheart.”

My hands clench at the nickname. But I breathe in, look towards the sea. Try to gather my thoughts, but all I can say is a quiet, “Thank you.”

He looks at me like he isn’t surprised. I expected him to be. He’s never heard me say it out loud to him before, even though there were a thousand situations before in which I should’ve said it.

He simply smiles, and nods. “You’re welcome.”

We’re not too far from the rest of them – but far enough that our voices cannot be heard. The music is a far away lullaby, filling the background of my thoughts. 

So many words that I don’t say.

I feel him look at me. So I look up again, the wine clearly making me feel braver than I am, and stare right back. He says, “I’m sorry for the other day.”

“I told you not to apologize.”

“But I will,” he says. “Because I know I crossed a line that day. I pushed you, and I shouldn’t have.”

“It was as much my fault as it was yours,” I argue.

“Not that,” he shakes his head with a sigh. “Emotionally, I pushed you. There were a lot of things I shouldn’t have said. If you don’t wish to talk about…what happened, then it’s not my place to ask you.”

I’ve never heard him talk like that. With such…guilt.

I pause, try to think of something to say, but he turns to me once more and continues, “I’m just happy that you’re here with us, your family and your friends, and I’m glad to see you looking better – is what I’m trying to say.”

And because I like poking the bear with a stick I say, “Are you saying I didn’t look good before?”

“No, I-“ he stammers. “It’s not that-“

But then he looks at me. Sees the unoffended expression, the calmness I’m trying hard to maintain in my features. And he cracks a smile. “There you are.”

There you are.

“Here I am.”

His smile widens and softens in the same second. And for a moment, I’m not really sure who I’m supposed to be anymore. Which mask I should be wearing. All I really know is that he’s smiling at me and I want to smile at him.

I turn my head away. 

“Are you smiling, Nesta Archeron?”

I scoff, turning away from him as I cross my arms over my chest, ignoring the reaction of my body when my name comes out of his mouth.

“Are you?”

“No.”

He inches closer to me and I can’t breathe – can’t. He takes my chin between two of his fingers and he’s turning my face to him, to those eyes I can’t bear to look at. The eyes I can’t bear to lose. My mouth parts involuntarily as he lifts my head so I meet his eyes. And I think he’s going to kiss me, and then I think there’s nothing I want more in this world than his lips, and then-

Then I think I want to run away and lock myself in my room.

His eyes search mine, trailing along my cheekbones, the heat of my cheeks, my parted mouth. There’s no composure left to me. There’s nothing left of me when his smile widens.

“You are smiling,” he provokes, eyes shining down at me. “I made you smile.”

“Cassian-“

I scoff, touching his arm to pull his hand away, but then-

His takes a sharp breath and I feel something-

Something snap in him.

His smile falters, and his eyes look confused for a moment. And I don’t know how to explain the look he gives me.

Softly, so softly, he whispers. “Say my name again.”

It hurts me to know I have this much of an effect on him – that his name on my lips causes him to lose control of himself.

I wonder if he knows I want to kneel and crumble everytime he says mine.

I touch his wrist, pulling it away from me – but my thoughts get lost in the maze that is my mind and I keep holding on to his warm skin.

“Cassian.”

He smiles. Beautiful – every inch of him.

Cassian inches even closer, and his arms wrap around my waist, so gently. I stop breathing. I stop existing the moment he touches his forehead to mine and – and sways our bodies together.

“What are you doing?” I manage to say.

I feel his breath against my lips as he laughs. “Dancing.”

“I thought you didn’t want to dance.”

The music is slow, a background tune that makes me want to close my eyes and lean my head against his chest.

“I do now,” he simply says.

Too many words I don’t say.

I don’t know where to place my hands. And it’s like he knows – like he feels what I’m trying to figure out, for he takes my hands and places them over his shoulders.

It’s terrifying bliss being in his arms like this.

I never want to leave. And yet-

“You’re like the wind,” he whispers, so low I almost don’t hear him.

My eyes are fixed on his mouth, watching the movement of his lips as he speaks. I am fascinated.

“Why?” I ask and the voice that comes out of me does not seem like my own. It’s a slow, raspy sound, like someone in a daze.

He seems to ignore my question, and simply continues, “You’re either the wind during winter storm,” he smiles. “Or a spring breeze.”

“Which one am I now?”

“Do you have to ask?”

No – because I know what he means.

I want to learn how to be a spring breeze all the time. I want to ask if he can teach me.

But then he’s holding me so, so gently against his chest, and the strands of his hair are falling on my face. My thoughts are scattered. Then he stops us, pulls away just slightly to look at me – as if marvelling. As if he’s fascinated that I’m allowing him to hold me like this. I am equally fascinated with my behaviour.

He touches my face, pulling the loose hair behind my ears. His thumb – I breathe in as his thumb parts my mouth, tracing my bottom lip. And it’s that touch alone that sends sparks of panic shooting inside me.

I hold his wrist, stopping him. Cassian blinks down at me as if he’s waking up from a dream, startled by his own actions.

“We should go back,” I whisper.

The words are a knife that I, myself, dig in my chest.

But my hands are shaking and I don’t know – I can’t-

He nods, letting go of me. He’s smiling, though I see a pang of hurt flash in his eyes. I dig that knife deeper and deeper, until it reaches my heart.

We walk in silence the rest of the way.

This time – the silence does bother me.

And yet. And yet I don’t try to change that.

We reach our court in the veranda, and I don’t meet my sisters’ eyes as I slide in next to them. Cassian touches my arm gently before leaving to speak to Rhysand.

His touch sends sparks flying along my skin. It’s a goodbye – for now.

Elain links her arm to mine as she chats away with Feyre, but their words sound like an alien language.

“Nesta?”

I start. “Yes?”

Feyre is looking at me. “Where are your shoes?”

I blink. “I-“

“You might’ve had too much to drink, sister,” Elain muses, poking me in the ribs.

“Yes,” I say, shaking my head. “I guess I did.”

Feyre’s eyes linger on me for too long that I meet her gaze. She holds it. Unsatisfied with what she was unable to find, she turns her head away – to Tarquin, who is trying to catch Rhysand’s attention.

“Tarquin?” Feyre questions.

Rhysand’s head snaps to Feyre at hearing her voice. He walks up to us, to Tarquin, and gives the fellow High Lord a questioning look. Tarquin simply shows him a note – a thin piece of paper ripped at the edges.

Rhysand and Feyre furrow their eyebrows at the same time.

“I just received it,” says Tarquin, a similar frown on his face. “From the Autumn-“

But before he can finish the sentence, there’s a sound behind us. A new scent fills the air, and the three Illyrians flare their wings at the male presence in front of us.

“Tarquin,” he says, bowing his head. “I hope I’m not too late for dinner.”

I know him.

My eyes narrow.

My hand is grasping Elain’s arm, pulling her behind me. Around us, people stop what they’re doing to look at the new acquisition to the party. The music comes to a halt.

I feel the tension hang in the air – it’s so solid I could reach out and grasp it in my hand. I look at Azriel, then Rhysand and my eyes fall at last on Cassian – rage, pure, blinding rage in his eyes and nothing more. Nothing of the tender male that held me a few minutes ago.

I turn to look in front of me – at Eris’ calm, smiling face.

“Rhysand, Feyre,” he bows his head. “Let’s have a chat, shall we?”


	3. Chapter 3

Cassian

“I want my father off the throne.”

The room goes silent.

I can hear every single tense heartbeat in Tarquin’s personal office. And yet there is a particular one that stands out amongst the others right behind me. I refuse to allow myself to look over my shoulder at Nesta. I refuse to let my thoughts wonder to an hour ago when she’d been in my arms, whispering my name. Instead, I focus my attention on the situation in front of me, eyeing the red-haired rat whose words managed to shake up my family.

The air seems thicker up here, suffocating, despite the open balcony doors letting in the warm night’s breeze. I can feel the power inside me still in place, recognizing the danger and readying to be freed. But I look at my brother and Feyre, and noticing her gaze upon me, I will myself to breathe and gather my power into a tight leash. Not now, her eyes say. I only dip my chin discretely, looking away.

“Why now?” Rhys asks, eyes narrowing.

Eris opens his mouth, but it’s Tarquin who cuts in, “Rhysand. Eris. This is not place for a fight. If you wish to sort your business with each other I advise you to do it somewhere else, far from my court and my people.”

Tarquin’s words are decidedly firm as the grip he maintains on the edge of his desk. I can feel my fingers just itching to reach for the sword strapped on my back, my siphons gleaming bright red; I sniff the tension in the air mixed in with the salted breeze, but I do nothing. I look to Rhys and Feyre. Waiting.

Eris smiles.

My jaw clenches.

“There will be no fight tonight, Tarquin,” he says. “The Summer Court is neutral ground – and that is why I asked your permission to come.”

“You did not mention a confrontation in your message.”

“It is because this is far from a confrontation,” the rat continues. He looks to Rhys, ignoring Tarquin’s fixed gaze on him. He sizes my brother up and spares no look at Feyre, despite the crown in her head. “This is a conversation. This is me calling back our bargain.”

“Answer the question,” Feyre demands. Her voice is calm, lethal. “Why now?”

Eris forces his eyes to stop on Feyre. He cocks his head to the side. And it’s that gesture alone that makes me take a step towards my sister. The rat pretends he didn’t notice. “I should extend my congratulations, Feyre. I believe the wedding was as grand as they say.” 

Feyre raises her chin and softly says, “It was a private ceremony. Just family and friends.”

There is no change to Eris’ face. Not even when Rhys steps in, “I believe my mate asked you a question, Eris.”

The autumn lordling smirks. The fucking nerve. “My father is no longer capable of ruling. He’s gotten too used to the weight of the crown on his head – neglecting his people, mistreating his soldiers, breaking laws and making up new ones as he damn pleases.”

“You’re convinced you’ll do a better job?” Feyre shows her teeth.

Eris shows his. “By the time it’s my turn I will not have a court to rule over. The people will revolt. And I don’t need that.”

“We have survived a war, Eris,” Rhys says. “You want to start another so soon?”

“This time’s as good as any other,” is his only answer. He crosses his arms, smiling wider. “So let’s make a deal, Rhysand.”

Rhysand is silent. And I can feel the concentration coming from him as Rhys attempts to break the barriers of Eris’ mind. But he seems to have no luck with it. His hands slowly curl into fists.

I wonder what he’s silently saying to Feyre. I wonder if they’re pondering whether or not it is essential to leave the autumn rat alive and risk his brothers’ fury as well as Beron’s. I certainly am.

“What do you want?” Rhys asks dryly.

“I said I wanted your support when I rise to the throne,” Eris says. “And that still stands. But I am willing to offer you something else as well.”

Everyone’s attention sparks up at this new information.

Feyre narrows her eyes, “So we’ll owe you again? We don’t want it.”

Eris smirks. And it’s a smirk worthy of a demon. “Free of charge, High Lady.”

High Lady. The intonation of those words sets Rhys’s eyes blazing, “What is it.”

“Information,” the rat says. “Turns out Beron did not enjoy the sight of the new found powers in the possession of the High Lady of the Night Court. You have been playing with fire, Feyre. Father dearest is gathering an army to take down the Night Court. To take you.”

“Lies.”

And it’s Azriel who speaks from beside Elain. All of our heads turn to him, alarmed at the tone in his voice – a tone we haven’t heard since the war. “My spies saw nothing. Beron is not stupid enough to barge into our Court – even with an army. He is no match for the Court of Nightmares-“

“And would the Court of Nightmares be willing to fight with you again against my father?”

I grit my teeth and step forward. “The Night Court’s armies would demolish any of your father’s little armies in a matter of half an hour. That is, if you were not making it up.”

He eyes me for the first time. No part of him retreats, no part of him falters. He sneers down at me, “Why would I make it up, Commander? What advantage would that give me?”

“Distract us while you’re playing your little game,” I spit.

“And what game is that?” He cocks his head to the side again, narrowing his eyes at me. I feel myself trembling with rage just at the sight of him. “Go on.”

“I’ll find out,” I say. “Soon enough.”

“Your threats are empty,” he shoots back. He looks at Rhys. “You know perfectly well that Beron is capable of that and more. He’s recruiting. Biding his time. He’ll risk his whole damn Court just to have her,” he points to Feyre with his chin. “Are you willing to risk that?”

When Rhysand speaks, his voice is laced with cruel darkness. His words are a tight warning, “You will call my mate by her name, Eris. She’s High Lady. Treat her as such. Look at her as such.”

Eris doesn’t seem the least bothered.

Feyre frowns. “My question remains for you father. Why now?”

“He’s striking while the wounds of the war still run deep,” Eris says.

“Why don’t I believe you?” Feyre strikes back. “Why do I still feel like there’s a big chunk of that story missing?”

“It is my own ass that’s at stake while I come here and tell you this,” he argues. “I am a traitor of my own crown. I came here as soon as I found out my father’s plans – he did not trust me enough to tell me. By warning you ahead of time, I’m showing my cards to you and I’m putting my faith and trust in your support. I want my crown. And I recognize that I need help – that’s all there is to it.”

“How did you find out?”

Every pair of eyes in the room turns to me. Eris gives me a look, clearly confused. I shoot him a terrifying grin and repeat the question. Slow. “How did you find out about your father’s plans?”

The rat scoffs. “Do you think your High Lord’s the only one with spies? Do you not think me smart enough not to have my own?”

My wings tense behind me, flaring slightly.

“I think you’re a stupid son of a bitch for daring to look down on us the way you are now,” I shoot back, taking a step forward towards him. Nobody else moves. “I’ll do whatever my family asks me to do, but I will never trust you.”

“Good thing you’re just a bastard born nobody, then.”

Four things happen at once: Rhysand steps forward, teeth clenched; Feyre holds up a hand, readying her power to strike true; Azriel lets out a low growl – low enough to be considered a true threat, and then-

And then, behind me, Nesta – Nesta – shoots up from her seat. And everybody stops. Everybody turns to stare, including me. Her fists are clenched at her side, but her face is nothing but pure, seemingly unbothered calm. Every bit of her intimidating.

Every bit a queen.

She’s staring at Eris in silence – but we all see it for what it is – a warning. A threat. As clear as Azriel’s growl, as Rhysand’s sharp teeth.

And far more effective. Eris stumbles.

And I know why. That whole power coming from her…it’s unrelenting and brutal and unforgiving. It has made every single one in this room stop – cower, even. I know Eris’ can feel it as well as the rest of us. I know what he sees in her right at that moment – a destructive force of nature.

And Nesta has barely moved an inch. Has done nothing but stand.

Eris stares at her both in awe and fear. But I can’t look away from her – can’t. I don’t know how to make myself not relish the fact that she stood up – quite literally – for me. I almost can’t believe all that rage in her eyes shone because of those words shot at me.

And then she’s looking around – as if she had lost track of herself. She blinks and her mouth sets itself in a fine line. Before any of us can react, Tarquin is in between us.

“Eris,” he says. “You are welcomed to stay here for as long as you like – there is a room upstairs prepared especially for you. You may stay in peace. If you want to cause a stir, I’ll tell you this again – and only once more – you can get out of my Court.”

He looks at all of us, silently. Then his eyes stop at Nesta.

Cassian.

Get out of my head.

Close your mind. You’re the loudest person in the room.

His eyes linger on her. As if considering…

Cassian.

I’m going to kill him.

Calm the hell down. Cassian-

And then they narrow, slow. He raises his chin thoughtfully – and I can’t make myself turn around to see what her face looks like because my bones are heavy steel and my blood urges me to kill. I want his blood splattered on this floor. I want his head rolling on this carpet, for ever turning his eyes on her-

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Cass, think what you’re about to do. Think what this can cost us. Please, stop and think.

“It’s best if I retire now,” Eris says, turning to Rhys. His voice brings me back to reality. My hands shake. I feel tremors run down my body, sweat gathering on my back. I put my mind’s defences back on. “When can I have a private audience with you?”

And it’s Feyre who speaks. “Tomorrow afternoon we’ll talk.” She eyes the room – I can read what her eyes are saying. 

We needed to tell Amren.

Worse, we needed to tell Mor.

They’d gotten lost in the celebrations and neither one of them had noticed Eris’ presence at the party. For a moment I’m glad that Mor didn’t have to witness this, and yet-

And yet she’d have to know the deal we were forced into. She’d have to agree to it.

There was no other choice.

“Sundown?”

“Sundown it is,” Rhys says tightly.

Eris exits the room without another word. Tarquin almost breathes a sigh of relief, while the rest of us…

We stare at each other in silence.

“Rhysand,” says Tarquin suddenly. “Feyre. You have an ally here in the Summer Court – always. For what you gave in the war, it’s the least I can do. Anything you need…”

“Thank you,” Feyre says, gently touching his hand. “Tarquin, that’s very kind of you. I-“

But Tarquin guesses the rest and shakes his head, “Let’s leave the past in the past. We should all look forward, Feyre,” he says. His face turns grim. “And hope this doesn’t become a dreadful situation.”

***

I leave my shirt on the sand.

The sea water feels too warm against my skin, even in the middle of the night; the burning in my veins is agonizing, scorching me from the inside out. I don’t know how to stop it – I don’t know what to do with myself.

If I wanted her less…I convince myself that if I wanted her less I could take it. I would’ve left her the hell alone and I certainly wouldn’t be putting myself through this torture for the second damn time. But Nesta keeps coming back to me in waves of flame; everytime I think I can do it – keep her out of my mind and out of my system – it just hits me in the face all over it again. Her scent, her eyes, her hair. It’s sudden, like the feeling just crashes into me and I’m left floating and drowning in the same second.

If I wanted her less.

But I want her, every bit of her, more than anything else in the world.

If I’m being completely honest with myself – it isn’t about want anymore. Her body always comes second in my mind. I need her close. I need her mind, her eyes, her words. I need-

Cauldron damn me – I need her.

I break the surface of the water and pull my hair off my eyes, rubbing my face hard – like I could possibly rub her off me.

Wings flap behind me and a pair of feet settles on the sand.

“Trying to drown yourself?”

I snort. “If it were that easy.”

I can hear the smirk in his voice, “If you want to go to the Mother, you could’ve asked me. I can give you a faster death.”

I turn to walk out of the water, shooting Rhys a look. “You’ve already tried when we were children,” I smirk at him, grabbing my shirt and shaking the sand off in his face. “Do you need me to remind you how hard you failed back then?”

“Do remind me,” Rhys says, his smile amused, plopping himself down on the sand and beckoning me to join him. “Why did I try to kill you?”

“The first time,” I start, sitting next to him, “because I riled you. Your mother almost beat us both afterwards. The second because I pushed you off a cliff,” I send a smirk his way. “Your mother definitely beat us that time. The third time was because of Mor.”

My brother’s face becomes pensive, his mouth curving into a small smile. “Can you believe how long ago that was?”

I shake my head – no, I definitely can’t. My five hundred years were spent fighting and fighting some more to stay alive, to protect the family I was given. I seem to have floated through time, surviving but not…living. Not exactly.

The concept of time had never mattered to me. My days weren’t numbered, so it had never been a concern. Time – time started the moment Nesta unexpectedly walked into my life like a hurricane, obliterating everything I thought I’d known until then.

Time, for me, started the moment I looked into the storm clouds that were her eyes.

Those stunning eyes-

I feel Rhysand’s gaze on me. I know I don’t have to tell him anything – my brother knows me better than anyone. Even Azriel. Rhys doesn’t have to break into my mind to know what consumes it.

“I’m nothing but a love sick fool, uh?” I muse, watching the waves crash and clash on the shore.

Rhys follows my gaze. “Aren’t we all?”

“You’re the worst of us all,” I say, elbowing his wing.

Rhys responds by hitting me in the back of the head with the same wing.

I laugh under my breath. “The two-week honeymoon wasn’t enough, uh?”

“A lifetime with her won’t be enough,” Rhys says, shaking his head. He turns his face away, eyeing the horizon and smiling as if he can see her. “It’ll never stop – this passion for her.”

My smile turns gentle. Images of their wedding cross my mind and for a second I let him in – to see things from my perspective. How happy they looked, with Feyre glowing and Rhys smiling as wide as I had ever seen him. I showed him all of it – how excited we all were for them that day.

When I look at him, Rhys is staring at the sand with a faint smile in his face. Gently, he murmurs, “Thank you.”

I pat him in the back. “Nothing to thank for, Rhys.”

“That’s not true,” he says. “What you gave in that battlefield-“

My throat has a knot tied around it as we observe each other. “What we all gave – it brought us here. It was all of us, Rhys. We got out of there as a family and whatever happens from here…we will lead with it as a family too.”

“Even if it means to work with Eris? To trust him?”

I stay silent.

Rhys sighs softly. “You resent me.”

“No, you’re wrong,” I say, looking at him. I rest my elbows against my knees as I speak, “You did what you had to do. Those were difficult times and desperate measures were needed. But now-“

“If we kill him we’ll have the other Courts to deal with,” Rhys says. “They will not look at this as Tarquin does. We may be starting a war between the Courts of Prythian this time.”

“I know,” I nod. “But working with him-“

“I don’t trust him, either,” Rhysand says. “Of course I don’t. When I tried to see his mind, he blocked me out – with impressive skill. If I truly wanted, I could’ve gotten past his defences but…he kept me out just as easily. He’s been practising.” My brother narrows his eyes at me. “That’s suspicious enough.”

“Right,” I tell him. “He’s hiding something.”

Rhys nods slowly. “Until we can find a way around it, we’ll agree to it.”

My head snaps to him.

“Right now we have no other choice, Cass,” he says, looking defeated. “We did make a bargain.”

My eyes lower to the sand around us. I sigh, looking up into the night sky. I miss the skies from home. “How are we going to tell Mor?”

“She’ll understand,” Rhys assures, gathering sand and letting it slip between his fingers. “I wish I didn’t have to hurt her again.”

We’re both silent for a while, and then Rhys says, “We’ll tell her in the morning. It’ll be her choice if she wants to be there for the meeting with Eris or not.”

“Is she alright?”

“She will be,” Rhys grins. “We found her drunk, half-asleep and leaning against a very bored Amren and a very amused Varian. She’s in bed now.”

“Are you sure?” I scoff, shooting him a similar grin. “She might’ve slipped out again.”

Rhys shrugs. “She needs this. Let us worry about her in the morning.”

I nod, smiling to myself.

Then my brother is staring at me again, at the thoughtfulness he detects. He asks, “What changed?”

I know what he’s asking. “I’m not sure. It’s like one day it just…stopped.”

Rhys stays silent, willing to let me continue.

I take a breath. “Which makes me sound like a dick, I know-“

“I didn’t mean it to sound like-“

“It didn’t,” I assure him. “But me and Mor…it came to a point where I knew it wasn’t going anywhere. And I really, truly, wanted her to be happy. I want her to have a feature – a bright one, too. I knew very early on that that future did not include me and I was fine with it. I made peace with it. I’d rather have her in my life than not have her at all.”

“And Nesta?”

“I don’t think I could ever part with her,” I say. The words burn my mouth like neat whiskey. I swallow. “Not really. If she decides to push me away completely I’ll leave. But I will never get her out of my mind.”

Rhys watches me closely. “There was a time when you thought you could never part with Mor.”

I shake my head. “It’s different,” I say. “It’s so different, Rhys. And I loved Mor like that for a long, long time. Too long. But loving Mor was a gentle wave unravelling on the shore at most. But Nesta…” the words fail me. I breathe in. “With her it’s a whole tsunami.”

Loving Nesta felt like the earth was caving in on itself. Like the skies were falling down, taken away bit by bit by a whirlwind. Like the world was being torn apart, never to be the same.

And yet.

I could spend the rest of my days feeling like that.

I see him nod to himself, taking in my words in the midst of the silence of the night. Slowly, he turns to me. “Cass,” he hesitates. Then, “Have you considered-“

“Yes,” I breathe. “Yes.” 

Rhys just stares at me. And I know what he’s thinking-

I can’t let myself consider it.

“It would’ve snapped into place by now,” I say, shaking my head. “It if were…” I trail off. “It would’ve happened by now. Right?”

“Not necessarily,” he says, his tone low, considering. “It snapped into place for me months after I met Feyre.”

“Yet you knew.”

“Don’t you?”

I pause.

Sometimes I thought I did. Other times I thought it could never be the case.

I tell him as much.

And Rhys says, “It is possible, Cassian. And you have to consider what it would mean for both of you if it happened.”

“It wouldn’t change things.”

“It would change everything.”

“Elain didn’t choose her mate,” I countered, eyeing him. “She’s very much in love with Azriel – another male. It’s like her bond with Lucien is non-existent.”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?” Rhys asks. “That Nesta won’t choose you?”

My words get lost somewhere.

That question alone hadn’t let me sleep for months.

“She doesn’t have to.”

“You don’t know what’ll happen, Cass,” Rhys says. “All I know is that what happened today in Tarquin’s office – that was not nothing. Your reaction to Eris staring wasn’t simply of a male lusting after a female. And her reaction-“

“I never know when he comes to her,” I mumble. “I never fucking know what’s on her mind. It kills me.”

“She’ll come around, brother,” he says. And I think he truly means it. “I mean it.”

“Get out of my head.”

“Close your mind.”

I sigh and stare out into the endless dark sea. “What does it feel like?” 

Rhys breathes in, stretching his wings. “You almost can’t put it into words. It’s…like you’re one being; it’s knowing when each of you is angry or tired or afraid; it’s knowing exactly what to do to make the other feel better, knowing how to comfort them, how to protect them; it’s waking up in the morning and feeling like the world makes sense; it’s being so deeply connected that you can’t help but feel what the other feels. It’s a bond stronger than any other thing I have ever known.” 

I look behind me – to the balcony I recognize as hers. I get an urge to open my wings and shoot sky high, knock on her door and sweep her up into my arms.

Sighing, I look back to Rhys. “I’m fucked.”

Rhys’s mouth curves into a smile as he breathes a laugh. He raises himself up. “I wish I didn’t agree with you, brother.”

My smile is grim as I take the hand he holds out for me. I say, “Thanks.”

He know what I mean. I’m aware he left his mate in their bedroom to come talk to me – because Rhys knew I needed this. It’s his turn to pat my back.

We both turn our eyes to her balcony. Then Rhys says, “Go to her.”

“She’ll kick me out.” 

“What if she doesn’t?” He shoots me a smirk.

It’s my turn to whack him with my wing. Rhys and I laugh to ourselves as we make our way back to the palace, and on my way in I spare one last look at that balcony – just one look – and then I make my way upstairs.

***

Bravery fails me and I end up in my own bedroom like the weak coward I am.

I stop on my doorway.

That scent always takes me by surprise – it always appears in front of my like a cloud of smoke just to slap me in the face.

Instantly, I look for her in the darkness – but the scent is too faint, too weak.

She’s not here.

The realization makes me want to sink to my knees. It starts a strange pain in my chest I can’t seem to get rid of. Despite the ache in my bones, I close my door and follow the path where the scent is strongest. I reach my desk, and look for the source-

There’s a book placed in the middle – one I don’t recognize. I inhale once – the scent hits me again, so strong I have to support myself on the damn furniture. I almost close my eyes and take another whiff of it, but curiosity gets the best of me and I grab it quickly, heart pounding in my chest.

It’s considerably small with just a few hundred pages and in hardcover. It has the shape of a diary, but the format of a poetry book, no note, nothing else included. The engravings on the cover read, “Lyric Poems” and nothing else. I’m out of breath and I don’t know why. My knees feel weak and I don’t know why. My heart-

I open the small book on the first page. A date is handwritten on the inside of the cover – just over ten years ago. I come to the sudden realization that it must’ve been a book she brought with her to Prythian. A book her mortal hands had held; a book her immortal hands could not part with, apparently.

And she had left it to me.

I flip the page. There isn’t an introduction, but two columns – two separate poems. The one I drag my eyes over was written after the other; I know this because the other is placed neatly in the middle of the page – and the one that catches my attention takes less space, like it had been added a long time after. All of them are handwritten. I read,

Love is a fire that burns unseen,

a wound that aches yet isn’t felt,

an always discontent contentment

a pain that rages without hurting

a longing for nothing but to long

a loneliness in the midst of people

a never feeling pleased when pleased

a passion that gains with lost in thought *

I reread those lines over and over again. I read them until I commit them to memory – and then I’m gazing out my balcony doors. I feel restless, impatient somehow. And those words-

They are forever imprinted on my mind.

Nesta Nesta Nesta.

Carefully, I place the book down.

Something – a tug on my heartstrings – makes me walk out those doors and into the night. I’m not surprised to look up and find her there – wavy hair loose, blowing with the breeze, eyes dark and thoughtful. And then I’m calm, I’m perfect, fucking over the moon-

She looks down.

And the dark blue robe she wears makes me think of the skies at home.

I miss the skies at home.

Nesta.

It would’ve snapped in place by now, I try to convince myself. It would’ve happened already if it were true. It’s not true. It can’t be.

But I still flare my wings. And I still fly up to her balcony.

I sit myself down on the marbled railing, my wings giving one last flap that blows the hair out of her face. Nesta stays as still as a statue as I plop myself down and stares at me as if she’s staring at an opponent.

I wonder if it will always be like this between her and I – predator eyeing predator. Two lethal beasts sizing each other up, trying to calculate who will be the first one to bite, trying to figure out the right moment to strike.

I speak first. “You wrote those poems.”

Her eyes turn to look at the expanse of water in front of us, and my body is thrilled to have her come so close as she leans her elbows on the railing. Less than three feet separates us. I could reach out and touch that strand of hair that she keeps trying to pull away from her face.

“That was a long time ago,” she says.

She’s tired.

There are dark circles under her eyes, and her voice doesn’t have its usual sharp tone. It’s as calming as the sound of the waves down below.

“That date?” I dare to ask.

“The day I got that book,” she says. “I was thirteen, almost fourteen.”

And I want to ask more – so much more. But she still hasn’t pushed me off this balcony, and I want this moment to drag out. I want it to last. I want to bury my face on her neck and-

“I stole it,” she murmurs, and it startles me when her face turns to me. It startles me having her eyes so intent on mine, so…calm. “There was a store far from the village. The lady who owned it saw me staring at it. She sneered down at me and I said it was meant to be a poetry book – for writers. Not for girl and their petty journals. When she turned around I walked out with it.”

I don’t know why she’s telling me this, but I don’t question it. I’m in a sort of daze because she’s talking to me, letting me in, and I’m not really sure how to react.

Surprising me further, she continues. This time, she turns her face away from me – as if she can’t bear my eyes on her for too long. “I wrote everyday. When I came up with something fairly decent I wrote it down on that book.”

Beautiful, I find, isn’t a good enough word for Nesta.

No words are worthy of what’s standing in front of me right now.

Her eyes are fixed on the waves below, and I know it’s because she’s finding it hard to meet my gaze after this small confession. I know it’s because the part of her that knows nothing besides pushing people away to protect her own heart is horrified that she’s just shared a piece of herself, her childhood, with me.

I don’t care how small it seems.

I can see the effort she’s making as she swallows hard, as she clasps her hands to stop me from seeing how they tremble.

I can see it all.

So I don’t care how small that confession is – to me, it means the world and more.

Gently, I reach over. And Nesta doesn’t pull away when I touch that piece of hair and place it behind her ear. “You’re a hell of a writer, Nesta Archeron.”

She turns her head, blinking up at me.

I smile.

And she’s at a loss for words – I see that, too.

“And a thief,” I raise an eyebrow, my smile widening. “How surprising.”

“Did you like them?”

She bites the inside of her lip. I follow the movement with my eyes and-

I can’t help it.

I reach over once more, half-expecting her to swat my arm and scream at me, and softly, so softly, I trace her bottom lip with my thumb, realising it from her teeth.

Nesta stares at me, eyes wide and so, so blue.

Nesta.

Mine.

I want to ask her – I want to ask her if her blood calls out to mine. If she wakes up in the middle of the night covered in sweat after seeing my face in her dreams. I want to ask if there’s ever a time when she spares me a thought, even if it’s just dreams.

And I want to tell her – tell her what?

For what?

Murmur that word that rings in my mind in the late hours of the night when I can’t sleep, when I see nothing but her, smell nothing but her, feel nothing but her and her and nothing, nothing but her – but to what end? To push her further away from me? To scare her off?

It’s not right.

Her lips part under my touch.

It’s not right.

Nesta’s cheek burn beneath my palm. I want them to burn my lips, too.

It’s not right.

She closes her eyes and her eyelashes touch her cheekbones. She glows in the night – like her and the moon were made from the same light.

But it’s not right.

I can’t. I won’t. That word – it may mean nothing. It may be completely wrong. We may be completely wrong for each other. And I can’t risk it – not with her. She means too much. Too much.

But wrong never felt more right as she sighs softly, and I feel her breath against my hand.

I realize I haven’t answered her.

“I read one.”

She opens her eyes, as if she’s forgotten herself.

Nesta doesn’t pull my hand away. I urge myself to do it for her, but my body won’t listen.

“Love is a fire that burns unseen, a wound that aches yet isn’t felt, an always discontent contentment,

a pain that rages without hurting, a longing for nothing but to long, a loneliness in the midst of people, a never feeling pleased when pleased, a passion that gains with lost in thought.”

I repeat the words back to her, slow, making every pause count, every look count. And I pray the gods that she gets what I’m trying to tell her. I pray that she comes to that realization alone, and I pray-Gods.

I pray she chooses me.

Nesta looks at my lips as I recite the words. When I finish, her eyes find mine, and my heart hurts at seeing the sadness in them. I want it gone. I want her eyes to shine as bright as the stars.

“What is it?” I whisper, thumb caressing her cheek.

She’s conflicted – her eyes turn away from mine and I turn my head, trying to meet her gaze.

“Nesta.”

She looks up at hearing her name.

“Talk to me.”

“I can’t give you what you want,” she whispers it to the horizon – not to me. She does not meet my gaze.

She does not pull away.

It would change everything.

“What is it you think I want?” I ask. “Tell me.”

Tell me to stay.

Tell me you want me like I want you.

Tell me you need me like I need you.

Tell me you love me lie I love you.

“What is it that I want, Nesta?”

Her hands are two fists on either side of her. I wonder how’s the state of the battlefield in her mind – which side will win: the part that wants me, the part that doesn’t know how to want me.

“I can’t make you happy, Cassian.”

Cassian.

My smile is wobbly, weak at best. “You can’t know until you try.”

My attempt fails at easing her. Nesta closes her eyes.

I drop my hand, and at the loss of contact that pain in my chest almost makes me want to double over. I wince, but look at her slowly open her eyes and stare at the end that was on her cheek.

“Why?” Is all I ask.

Nesta smiles sadly. She wraps her arms around her body, like she’s freezing.

Her voice falters. “Because I’m not happy.”

No, no, no-

“Nesta-“ I get off the railing, take those three steps towards her.

She takes one away from me.

I have spent five hundred years battling. Fighting to survive. And the wounds I got in the battlefield – and out of it – were nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the pain at seeing her eyes drop to the floor; at seeing her body folding in on itself – weak and tired and marked by sadness.

I can’t bear it.

I can’t.

I feel like I’m dying.

“Nesta,” I repeat, reaching for her. She eyes my hand, nails digging into her elbows. “Let me-“

“What?”

Nothing of the girl in that office that stared down the son of a High Lord; who shook the earth merely by standing up; who let go of a fraction of her power – and it had been enough to intimidate every single one of them.

I stare at her.

“I’m not a broken doll for you to mend,” she says. “I’m not something to be salvaged-“

“I did not say that,” I mutter, taking a tentative step. “I do not think that. That’s you. Those are your words.”

“It doesn’t erase their truth.”

“Yes it does,” I say, taking her hand.

Stop me.

“You don’t have the right perception of yourself.”

She sneers, “And you do?”

I take her cheeks between my hands. Nesta widens her eyes – I can see the slight panic in them, but I caress her cheeks softly, making her look at me and see the truth – the real truth – in my eyes.

“I see you,” I whisper.

And I dip my head down.

I kiss each one of her cheeks, letting my lips linger.

I can’t get enough of her touch. I can’t get enough of the softness of her skin beneath my mouth.

“I see you as you really are, Nesta Archeron,” I say. “I’ve told you that. You didn’t believe me then and you’re not going to believe me now. One day I hope you understand.”

I hope you understand what I am to you.

What you are to me.

I pull my hands away, fighting with myself.

I look at her, “I liked it, yes. And I know I’ll enjoy the others when I read them. Thank you for giving it to me.”

Something crosses her eyes – something I couldn’t read. It’s there for only a fraction of a second, then it’s gone.

“You’re welcome.”

I smile, despite everything. She’s so close to me that I can feel the warmth of her body, inviting me in. I want to touch her. I need to touch her.

But I can’t. I won’t.

Love is a fire that burns unseen.

And that fire is threatening to devour me.

I try to ignore that sinking feeling in my stomach at seeing her like this. I try to ignore the instinct to wrap her up in my arms. Instead, I gently touch her cheek again, just a whisper of a touch, and then I drop my hand.

I don’t know how many times I’ll say goodbye to her until I can no longer wave a hand.

I don’t know how long it’ll take for it to destroy me.

But until then, I’ll let it consume me little by little.

“Goodnight, Nesta.”

She says nothing. Nesta dips her chin and turns away from me.

She walks away.

And stops.

Trembling.

One

Two

Three

Four

Seconds pass and her back is to me.

Five

Six

Seven

And she whispers, “Page twenty-two.”

And walks inside.

***

Page twenty-two.

I stare at the words. I’m not sure how much time passes as I read them over and over. An hour, two, three – I don’t know.

I only know that when I go to bed, it’s her face I see. I only know that when I close my eyes, it’s her words I hear,

“I Know, I Alone

I know, I alone  
How much it hurts, this heart  
With no faith nor law  
Nor melody nor thought.

Only I, only I  
And none of this can I say  
Because feeling is like the sky -  
Seen, nothing in it to see.” *

I only know that when I begin to fall asleep, my last thought is that I miss the skies at home.


	4. Chapter 4

Nesta

I cannot get warm.

My hands are perpetually cold, the bones of my fingers ache with the simplest of movements. Winter has taken roots inside me – frozen branches wrapping around my veins, blankets of endless snow covering my skin. My immortal heart is a crystal of frost that beats, and yet, it is forever still. Near-silent.

Even though the sun is shining through the open doors, the warm breeze gently blowing the pale orange curtains that adorn the frame. Even though there is no snow on the ground, no cold. Just wide fields of green, the brightest green I have ever seen, that lead to a vast ocean, waters so blue it hurts to look.

The book is open on my lap, left unread like his other companions, and as I look through those glass doors to that open, wide marbled balcony, I try to remember a time when I did not feel like this.

A time when I was a woman, just a woman, and not winter’s wrath.

It feels like too long ago – a lifetime ago.

The book is open on my lap, left unread, and I blame the laughter coming from outside for my lack of concentration. I want to throw it across the room. I want to force myself to read it and find joy in the things that were once joyous and dear to me.

Nowadays, I am a sea of contradictions.

I’m cold whenever it’s warm; I don’t speak when I should speak; I want to join them outside, I want to sink into this chair and lose myself in the cruel down spiral that is time.

Nowadays, my mind is chaos. I find myself trying my absolute hardest to sort through all my thoughts and failing miserably every time. But every single time I come to one single conclusion, and that conclusion does not make me feel less frightened – it makes me certifiably terrified.

I am so terrified.

I am terrified every day.

I am so scared he will open this door and look me over, analysing every detail – for he never misses any –, and tell me all the things that I have wished to hear, want desperately to hear, will forever dream of hearing. I am so scared I will let myself run into those open arms and lose everything again. And yet I want it. I can feel myself leaning more and more into him each passing day, and I don’t know how to stop myself from wanting him. I want him.

I want him.

That truth makes me jump from the chair, pace around the room.

It makes me walk out to the balcony, where it’s easier to breathe and my lungs don’t feel like collapsing inside my chest.

They are all down below in the gardens. Drinks in hand. Smiles on their faces. I search for my sisters and find them sitting together on a stone bench, summer dresses dragging in the grass. I find Elain wrapping an arm around Feyre and their joy calms me, sooths my mind. Although I feel like I’m prying on something private – I lean my forearms against the railing and I keep observing them. Because for a moment, for that fraction of a second, my sisters’ happiness serves as a welcomed distraction.

But then a movement from the corner of my eye catches my attention – and I’m instantly regretting turning my head.

Far away, in the private white-sand beach, he laughs with his brothers and the other High Lord, every inch of him wet – from the loose shirt to the wings, now flapping behind him in an attempt to dry them. The other laugh with him, and I understand why: they’d managed to push him into the water. Despite the distance I can read his lips as he turns to Rhysand - “Son of a bitch”. He shakes his head, but his eyes are shining as bright as the sun and his lips are curling into a smile that is nothing short of playfulness.

They tease him, and I almost want to laugh with him.

Almost.

It’s like I can feel the amusement from where I stand. It’s like I can hear his laughter – and it’s so contagious, so loud and rough, so typically him, that a part of me forgets the thoughts from before and wants to smile, too.

They walk along the beach towards the gardens, Rhysand in front, his eyes always intent on Feyre. When they reach my sisters, jokes I don’t understand are exchanged, laughter I’m not part of grows, and they still have not spotted me.

He has not spotted me.

My eyes are on him. Always on him.

And my mind conjures two words: Look up.

And before I finished them, he turns his head and looks up – at me. Even though there’s no way he could’ve known-

I don’t find the strength to look away. His face still has the remains of a smile that does not belong to me, that is not because of me, and he stares and stares and doesn’t say anything. The others are too immerged in their conversation to notice anything that’s happening – and for that I’m glad.

Hazel eyes blink up at me. And then, so slow, he turns his head to the side without dragging his gaze away from my face in a gesture that clearly says Come down, and my heart feels heavy, so heavy. I clasp my hands together so they don’t shake as I shake my head at him.

His fingers clench and unclench and I follow that movement intently. Then his mouth is set in a firm line, his eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes are saying to me Please.

No – I shake my head.

I don’t dare to feel disappointed when he turns his head back to his brothers. What was I expecting?

I pull away from the railing and drag myself back inside without looking back once. 

Once, he said I was like the wind.

To me, he is flames. Scorching me from the inside out, burning me without ever touching me. Everything about him seems to indicate that he is made of fire – born from it. Everything about him is warm. Scalding. His eyes, his skin, his hair – all of him is flame come to life.

I leave that flame burning down below and I sink back down into that chair, opening the book in my lap. I drag my eyes over the lines without reading them, and I list every single reason in the back of my mind as to why I’m here instead of down there with them – with him. I pretend they’re all good enough.

I had to convince myself that they were good enough reasons.

Because me and him – we are the two opposite sides of a coin. Contradictions turned to life.

And because when you add wind to flames-

You get a forest fire.

***

Morrigan sits beside me on one of the couches, her back straighter than usual, her chin raised high.

Tarquin’s office is painted in an orange tinted glow that flows in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The beginning of December in the Summer Court consists of the warm sea breeze and bright sunlight even at the end of the day; it consists of sun-kissed skin and thin clothing; of red cheeks and sweaty brows.

I’m still as cold as a winter’s morning.

My eyes follow each movement in the room, passing through Elain’s fingers entwining with the spymaster’s, to Feyre’s gracious hand gestures as she and her High Lord speak to Tarquin, thanking him for his hospitality and today’s company at the beach. He responds by shaking his head and smiling, a gentle, dismissing gesture thrown my sister’s way. His head bows in respect.

He’s been kind to us. 

It is my understanding that there isn’t a single part of him that wishes us ill. Despite being considerably young – in Fae standards –, Tarquin realizes that peace is a very thin line to walk on – it can be easily broken, easily cut by a single mind seeking power, and it is a dangerous thing to stand alone on such a fragile rope. The High Lord is intelligent. Allying himself with the Night Court is not only a good option, but a necessary one as well.

Especially in times like these, when that rope is a fragile as ever.

Morrigan is silent. I understand why, yet there is something unsettling about not seeing that bubbly, ever-present grin on her face. To watch her face transform into the battling warrior, the merciless Second.

I admire her.

I admire her ability to stare at the danger looming in front of our eyes with nothing but razor-sharp teeth and a head held high. Because I know she’s crumbling on the inside at the thought of seeing Eris again, and yet she does not show it. Because I know her story – pieces of it – and I know it does not make her cower. It makes her rise.

I want to know how to rise, too.

He stares at me. 

I’m a tower fully disintegrating beneath that gaze. For a second, I wonder when did those eyes stop slipping to Morrigan – and started resting solely on me. I wonder, turning my gaze away from him, whether or not his eyes would’ve ever landed on me in the first place had Morrigan wanted him back.

It was a mistake sharing that book with him. It was a mistake ever giving him direct access to my thoughts, willing him to be the critical judge of my mind and feelings. It was a mistake letting him in. I should’ve…

I should have stopped this in that first day when his lips met my skin for the first time. I do not deserve his eyes on me, nor the quiet smile gracing his mouth at this moment, as his eyes linger on me.

I shared too much last night.

And this…pulling away then pulling him in – it has to stop. This war in my mind has to stop. I need to find a way to stop it. Once he realizes that I’m not who he thinks I am, once he realizes the darkness that lives inside me…his eyes will simply linger on someone else – then I’ll be just as forgotten by him as Morrigan.

Maybe that will be for the best.

Then-

Then I will be able to breathe.

A knock on the door makes us all stop and stare.

And Eris, the heir to the Autumn throne, enters the room with unnerving, calming grace. From the corner of my eye, I can see the spymaster’s grip stiff on my sister’s arm. I can see how – so discretely – he pulls her closer to his body. And for once, I am glad. For once, I realize, I’m grateful for the male Elain chose. For I see in that gesture alone that he’ll always be able to recognize danger, and thus protect her from it. Even in ways that I can’t.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Tarquin who speaks first, “Welcome, Eris. I will leave you to speak with the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court and their Inner Circle. My warning to you – to all of you – from yesterday remains. There are sentries outside. May peace guard you.”

He then exits without another word.

May peace guard you.

Common saying after the war. And not applicable to this moment – for the Illyrian’s wings are flared and their syphons gleaming in the afternoon sun. But Eris is bowing his head at Tarquin in understanding and I see nothing of the cruel male I witnessed during the war. There is a sad calmness to him I do not understand. He barely glances at Cassian and Azriel, and looks barely bothered by the swords on their backs.

He spares one look to Morrigan – one of recognition. And that is it.

“I see you’re missing your Second,” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth as he looks to Rhysand.

But then the door opens and – as if rehearsed – it’s Amren who walks in, looking as lethal as the smile she wears on her face and the sparkling, sharp jewels on her neck.

“No they’re not,” she says calmly, slipping into place beside Feyre.

“Amren.”

“High Lord,” she bows. “High Lady. Message has come from the Hewn City. You have your army.”

So she has been informed. 

So has the Court of Nightmares. I wonder what kind of threat Amren threw Keir’s way – what kind of deal she made to have his soldiers once more.

The Illyrians smile.

A shiver runs down my spine and I straighten myself on my seat.

Eris looks unbothered by this piece of news. His eyes jump between Feyre and Rhys.

“You’re preparing,” Eris observes.

“If you what claimed is true,” Feyre says, clasping her hands together. “We are ready for your father.”

“You wanted an audience,” declares Rhys, his jaw tightening. “You have us all here. Tell us your plan.”

For a fraction of a second I see Eris’ eyes turn to Cassian, standing far on my right. And there’s a sudden thrumming beat in my bones, a chilling sensation dripping in my veins that almost makes me stand between the two. That amber gaze towards Cassian – it awakes something in me.

Like last time.

I’d been ready to snap Eris’ neck when he aimed the word bastard at Cassian. It had been a snap within me, willing me to stand and throw myself at him, teeth clenching and ready to be rip out his throat and make him bleed. It had been an instinct – an instinct to protect.

My blood boils, but I keep myself steady, my features blending into something cold, just as unbothered, as the lord of Autumn begins to speak.

“I will kill my father before winter solstice,” he says, his voice clear, even. Not a trace of guilt, not a trace of fear, nor doubt. “My brothers will rise up against me and they will attempt to take the throne that is rightfully mine. I will not allow it. When my father’s crown slips from his head, I want you to give me your protection and I want sanctuary in the Night Court, until I am ready to kill them, too.”

The pure, unforgiving cruelty in those words alone…

I see Morrigan’s head snap to Rhys. Her eyes begging-

I see Rhys and Feyre look at one another, speaking a language of their own, considering their possibilities.

“I have already betrayed my own crown by telling you my father’s plans,” Eris continues, hands behind his back. “I am willing to be allies and risk my head in the process-“

“Please,” Morrigan snorts, crossing her arms. “Don’t pretend you’re doing this for the greater good – for peace. You want your crown, and you’re not willing to wait. That’s all there is to it.”

Eris turns his head lazily. “Do you think there’s such thing as peace with my father as High Lord of the Autumn Court? Do you think having his army march for your court is considered peace?”

The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. “What guarantee is there that you and your armies won’t march on the Night Court the second that crown touches your head?”

The lord of Autumn looks surprised to hear me. His gaze stops on me for a second too long. I cross my legs, clasp my hands, and stare him down. If no one asks the real questions – then I will. “What makes you better than your father? And what proof can you give that you will not betray us when you have what you want?”

I can feel a collective shock around the room.

Eris turns to me – slowly. A spark of interest crosses his eyes as he does, as if finally realizes that he’s found in me a real opponent. He cocks his head to the side like a bird of prey. “None. I can give you no proof. I can only offer you my trust and accept yours in return – if given to me.”

“That seems like a sketchy deal to me.”

He smiles. It irks me. “Your High Lord and High Lady can choose to snap my neck the moment I step into your territory. I am vulnerable here – I’m vulnerable there.”

“Then why put yourself at risk now – when you can wait?” I shoot back. 

The others’ heads snap back and forth between us. A game of chess, is what this is. Eris is a vulnerable king on the board with only a few useless moves to make. And he’s desperate. I can see as much. I can see truth in his argument.

“After several few attempted murders in my house orchestrated by my younger brothers, I would think I might have better chance at killing them if I move now, before they have a chance to kill me,” he responds.

“And, like my sister said,” Feyre steps in, “in the scenario where you betray us all – I think we might have a better chance at ripping your head off your shoulders before you get you can move your little finger to try and break into our home.”

Eris does not look threatened. “The scenario where I betray you does not exist. I do not wish to start a war with the Night Court or the Summer Court. I wish to live. And you’re my only chance at doing so,” he says. His words cause a stir within our group. We all see where his logic lies. But whether he’s telling everything…

We do not know. And we cannot be sure.

But Rhysand and Feyre made a bargain, whether we like it or not. And they will keep true to their word. They have to.

“So you see, Feyre,” Eris continues. There’s bitterness lacing his words, coming through in his features. “My life is at risk either way. So I might as well try and claim my throne. Rest assured – if any of my brothers take my throne, you might as well get the killing blow, for I am as good as dead when that happens.”

“But you asked for our protection.”

Every head turns to Elain’s body, half-hidden behind Azriel. She touches his arm gently, looks at him once, and steps in. Out of every single body in the room, Elain’s is the only that does not pose a threat. She looks at Eris with nothing more but a question in her eyes. There is no evil, no suspicion. The spymaster watches her carefully.

“Would your brothers start a war with our Court just to kill you, if you were still under our protection?” She asks.

And we’re all taken aback by the sudden feeling that crosses Elain’s eyes – pity. She pities him, despite everything. Of course she does. Because Elain…Elain sees the good, even when the good is buried under heavy rocks of bad. She sees the truth in Eris’ words and chooses to give him the benefit of the doubt, while the rest of us are hesitant to follow suit.

Elain, who saved the day by digging Truth-Teller in Hybern’s back, is the same Elain that looks willing to try and understand this male’s struggles, despite his many wrongdoings.

Morrigan is still beside me. I wonder what she makes of this.

“My brothers would try and kill each other first,” Eris says to Elain. “But the one who wins will come after me, making sure to remove the last threat to the throne.”

Elain frowns. “What kind of family are you?”

“The kind that kills for power,” Eris states, his features hard as stone. Another truth he’s not bothering to hide. “But something puts me apart from them, Elain Archeron. I do not kill for power. I kill for my safety.”

“Safety always lies with power,” Morrigan says, her tone cold.

“Indeed,” Eris shoots back, just as coldly.

I’m not surprised that Feyre and Rhysand refrain from interrupting this discussion. I know they’re speaking amongst themselves through the bond they share. I do not know, however, what they plan to do about this. I do not know if they are willing to risk our safety to keep their word, nor the lengths they will go to assure that their promise to Eris is kept.

I do not know if they have a back-up plan inside their sleeves.

Morrigan and Eris stare each other down – until Eris turns his face away to look at Feyre and Rhysand. “I cannot offer you any proof of my loyalty. I can only tell you this: my father will make his move on the Night Court and he will attack Velaris. Your armies may defeat his – or they might fail. Either way, I will fight with you against my father, against my brothers. For you and for your city. In return, I expect your protection and support.”

“What about your mother?” Rhysand asks.

Eris works his jaw and his eyes drop to the ground as he murmurs, “Spare her.”

Feyre’s eyes flash to him in realization. “She’s willing to side with you – against her husband.”

“But not against the rest of her children,” says Eris. “My mother…she loves us. But even her love is not strong enough to stop my brothers from coming for me. If it gets to that, if they try to murder me one more time – I will kill them all. She knows there is only two outcomes to this war in my Court: I either kill them – or they kill me and each other in the process of competing for the damn throne.”

“She will hate you,” Feyre says.

“Yes, she will,” Eris responds. “She will consider me a monster, if she does not already. I have no other choice.”

A monster amongst monsters. 

He has to be something worse – if he wants to live.

Rhysand’s eyes burn. “If she turns against you are you willing to kill her, too?”

“No,” Eris says a heartbeat later. “If she does not forgive me – if she does not see that I did not have any other choice – I will place the sword in her hand myself.”

Willing to do whatever it takes to survive to the point of killing his own brothers – but not his mother. Probably the only source of love he has ever known.

The silence around the room is a heavy, dark cloud over our heads. Even Morrigan turns her face away, like she’s trying not to let herself understand his motives. Like she’s trying not to pity him, like the rest of us are.

I knew the Fae were brutal – but this…brother turning against brother, and for a crown-

Feyre and Rhysand look at each other. They look at the rest of us for only a few moments. And then Rhysand is staring down at his mate, his wife, a question in his eyes.

The High Lady of the Night Court looks up. One dip of her chin is all she offers Rhysand.

“We accept your terms,” says Rhysand.

Rain falls on us.

It’s expected, but the cold still bites at our skin.

“Thank you,” says Eris. Three seconds pass, and then he bows his head – at both Rhysand and my sister.

“In our Court we do things differently,” Rhysand adds, stepping towards Eris. “The bargains we make are marked on our skin – never to be forgotten. Or betrayed.”

He holds his hand out to Eris – and it’s not a question. Not an invitation. Not a sign of cordiality or amity between them. It’s a demand.

And Eris has no choice but to oblige.

“We will offer our protection to you, Eris Vanserra-“

“Stop.”

Morrigan stands.

The whole room stops.

“Let me make the bargain with him,” she says.

And her eyes say, It’s the least you can do.

Rhysand lowers his eyes, seeing something in Morrigan’s mind that he cannot argue with, and backs down. She walks to the lord of Autumn and grabs his hand forcefully.

“We will offer our protection to you, Eris Vanserra,” she recites. She has a death grip on him, yet Eris shows no emotion as he listens. “We will fight for your crown against your father and your brothers. If you betrays us, you will meet the end of my sword. If you betray my Court and my city, I, and only I, will have your blood dripping down my fingers.”

I feel Elain gripping her spymaster’s arm harder on my left as she observes the two figures in front of us. I see both Cassian and Azriel lower their heads. I catch Feyre’s gaze and see my own expression reflected on hers.

Eris says nothing as swirls of black wrap around his wrist. Morrigan pulls her hand free, the same swirls on her own arm, and with one last glare, she turns and exits the room, carried away by the flood.

The moment that door clicks shut, Elain gasps.

I’m standing not a heartbeat later, reaching for her. My sister shuts her eyes, hands trembling, lips moving with no sound-

“Elain,” I attempt.

Azriel catches her as she loses sense of her body, and shakes her, repeating her name over and over against her ear. Everyone is around her in seconds-

And then her eyes are opened. She is as still as stone.

“Elain?” Azriel whispers.

I know what it is a soon as her eyes blink at nothing. I snap my head to Feyre-

“Get her out,” she says to Azriel.

And I know why there’s such an urgency in my sister’s voice. Elain has had a vision – and Eris has no idea what she can do. He cannot know what she can do.

Azriel has his arms around her, opening the door to take her away from here. But before he has the chance to, Elain-

We all hear it. “Two lives lost and a life given.”

Before the door closes.

“What is she talking about?” Eris asks, eyebrows furrowed.

My hands shake.

But Feyre turns to him slowly, and she says, “We have barely had any time to heal from the war. Some of us deal better with the wounds and the nightmares that result from it than others.”

Eris takes it as the bite it is. He looks towards the door where Elain disappeared and then his eyes turn to me. Evaluating. Calculating.

I meet his gaze and will my features to show nothing. My eyes trail up and down his body – dismissing. My chin raises. 

And Eris raises his eyebrows slightly my way – a challenge, it seems. I sneer, giving him just a little glimpse of the sharp teeth beneath. 

He smiles.

Then he says to Rhysand, “In three days I will winnow myself here, with Tarquin’s permission. It will be done by then.”

Three days.

We have three days. 

Rhysand swallows hard. “And we will winnow you to the Night Court then.”

Eris nods once – his gesture gracious, cordial. His eyes snap back to me – only once – and there’s a whisper of a smile on his lips before he disappears into thin hair, leaving behind the dark clouds and a unsettling smell of burning wood.

***

It’s our last night in the Summer Court.

Tarquin has been notified of the new arrangements, so we are to go back to Velaris when the sun is born once more.

Elain has no memory of ever saying those words. No memory of the vision she had back in Tarquin’s office. Those thirty seconds are a blur to her – she described it as having fallen asleep and woken up in Azriel’s arms outside of the room.

Two lives lost and a life given.

I repeat the words in my head as my stomach turns over. They are empty of meaning, and yet-

And yet I cannot shake them. Not while another war is blooming in the close distance.

Another war. 

Will we ever know anything else?

I sit on the sand and let my feet drag over the calm, unravelling waves as I try to shake off images of torn bodies and fields of green painted scarlet. I find my cheeks wet with tears and this time I don’t try to stop them. I wrap my arms around my body and let them run free with the sea as my only company.

There is no other option but fight.

If we kill Eris – we will have a war on our doorstep. If we ally ourselves with him…the outcome will always be the same.

Two lives lost and a life given.

I can’t take it.

The water on my feet is no longer calming. I’m pushing myself away from it, crawling, for my legs aren’t strong enough to stand. I see my sister’s faces, bloodied and bruised, their eyes lifeless. I see Feyre with a line of red across her throat, and Elain – sweet, gentle Elain with a sword buried on her stomach, blood dripping from her mouth. I hear shouts, orders being thrown, wings flapping and agonizing screams of pain from across that battlefield.

I am in the cauldron.

My sisters scream for me and I can’t get to them.

And a voice, so far away, my name a tortured, pained sound.

I am drowning in the coldest of waters, my heart pounding erratically in my chest, urging me to stay alive, urging me to breathe- 

I can’t take it.

My sisters are dead and I can’t get to them.

Feyre.

Elain.

I can’t save them. I can never save them-

I see ripped wings in front of me, unmoving. A chest heaving its last difficult breath-

Cassian.

Cassian.

Cassian.

I can’t take it.

Cassian.

I can’t breathe.

Cassian.

I can’t feel.

Cassian.

I’m dying. I’m dying all over again, drowning, freezing in the depths of nothing.

Cassian.

He’s dead.

Cassian. Cassian. Cassian.

Warmth surrounds me.

A pair of arms hold me.

But he’s dead.

He’s dead and I couldn’t save him-

Cassian.

“Nesta.”

I’m being swept in the air. Strong arms are holding me against a hard chest, and I’m so cold – I’m still so cold.

Cassian.

“I’m here. I’m here. Sweetheart. Nesta. I’m here.”

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.

Wind hits my face, but I’m shielded by the warmth. I want it to drive the cold away. I want that warmth to envelop me and never let me go. The water rises up and pushes me down.

“Nesta. Nesta. Nesta.”

My name.

I recognize the voice that says it. But I don’t believe it because he’s dead, he’s dead-

“Sweetheart. I’m here.”

My teeth are chattering, the sound awful to my ears, but I cannot stop it.

Please please please.

“Open your eyes. Nesta, open your eyes, love. Please-“

It’s agony hearing the desperation, the hurt in his voice. Make it stop. Make it stop.

“Open your eyes. I’m here.”

Two hands on my cheeks that make me open my eyes.

My vision is blurred and I don’t know how long it takes for it to focus on a pair of hazel eyes, completely panic-stricken, gazing up at me.

I’m in a room.

I’m not drowning. I’m not drowning. Cassian-

“I’m here,” he whispers, so slowly. “I’m here.”

I’m sitting at the edge of a bed, and Cassian is kneeling at my feet, his hands on my cheeks.

“I’m here,” he repeats the words.

I’m not drowning.

I’m in my room – in the Summer Court palace.

Cassian is kneeling at my feet, both of his thumbs are wiping away my tears. The night breeze comes in through the open balcony doors. I’m not drowning. Cassian is not dead.

He’s here.

He’s here.

He’s here.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, I’m here. Sweetheart, look at me.”

I do.

“You’re safe. You’re safe with me.”

I’m not safe. The waters will always push me down. The ice will live in my bones.

I realize I’m making sounds – sobbing sounds, low shrieks that make my ears bleed. My heart is pounding, cruelly punching my ribcage.

I can’t stop. I can’t.

“Nesta,” he says, so slow. “You’re safe.”

“Get me out,” I manage to blurt. “Get me out. I want to go home. I need to go home. Please. Please-“

Home.

I don’t have a home – not anymore.

The Night Court isn’t my home.

Cassian stares at me and there are tears in his eyes.

He nods without saying a word. “I will get you home, sweetheart.”

I can’t stop shaking, even as he picks me up in his arms. I let my head fall on his chest. I can feel my death grip on his clothes, almost tearing the fabric apart, but I need to make sure he’s real, I need-

There’s no hesitance to his movements. Cassian holds me close to him and then he’s walking-

Voices around me. Startled, upset, reassuring.

I don’t want to open my eyes. I don’t want to see if it’s real or not.

“…need. I’ll stay with her. Winnow us…Velaris.”

“…be fine. Calm-“

A growl. Lethal, dangerous – enough to shatter the world – reaches my ears. I cling to the source of that growl, I cling to him with my life.

I’m not drowning. I’m not drowning.

Wake up, Nesta, wake up.

“I need to be with her. I can’t-…letting her go.”

“…yes. Cassian…for her. Calm down. Come.”

My eyes open.

I don’t know where we’re going. I don’t know how to process what’s happening, where he’s taking me. My vision blurs again, but it’s the night outside smells of the sea, the water-

I’m not in the water.

I’m flying.

The wind makes me shiver, but his arms squeeze me against his chest, his warmth envelops me like a second skin.

And then it’s quick – and I almost feel like I’m leaving my body behind when-

When it stops.

And the night smells different.

I can’t hear anything anymore. The thrum in my ears feels too strong – the sound of my heart erases the voices around me.

I’m flying again. But before I can open my eyes, my back is resting against a soft mattress, my head lying on a pillow of feathery softness.

I’m cold. So cold-

“You’re safe. Open your eyes. Look at me.”

I force myself to realize that this isn’t a dream.

I force myself to realize that this isn’t me drowning.

Cassian.

“Yes, sweetheart. It’s me.”

My eyes open. 

I’m met with the warmth of the sun. My heart begins to slow.

“Breathe,” he says. “Slowly. Breathe.”

I can breathe. Because I’m not drowning.

I take a breath, and let it out slowly. Cassian nods, pushing back my hair that clings to my face, and says it again, and again, and again. However long it takes me to do it by myself. My heartbeat slows, convinced my body isn’t going to die, and my brain starts putting the pieces together, little by little.

“Cassian.”

“Yes,” he lets out, relieved. “Yes, Nesta.”

He’s leaning over me.

“You’re at the House of Wind,” he murmurs. “In Velaris. You’re home.”

This isn’t my home, I want to scream.

But he’s here, and he’s not dead. His wings- 

They’re fine. Healthy. Folding behind him.

“Velaris,” I murmur.

“Yes,” Cassian says. “Home. You’re back home, safe.”

And I’m looking at him – watching his face. Searching every detail, from his eyes to the straight nose, the well-defined lips, the high cheekbones, the sharp jawline…he’s alright. Here. With me. Kind eyes stare down at me, searching my own face. He’s frowning.

It’s because I’m crying again.

I know this because he touches my face, so gently, and wipes the tears away. “You’re alright,” he murmurs.

I can’t move.

I can’t do anything else but stare at him.

Those eyes-

They’re the eyes that have kept me awake at night, the eyes that have saved me time and time again.

He stares back at me.

And he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand the realization that hits me when his eyes turn to me.

A piece missing – coming back to me.

“Nesta-“

“Where did you find me?” Is all I can ask, the words difficult to pronounce as my eyes focus on his face.

And suddenly he’s confused by my question. He says, so gently, “At the beach. You called my name.”

“I called your name.”

“Screamed it. Repeatedly.”

I don’t remember any of it.

I remember seeing him lying on the ground, the light slowly dying out of his eyes. 

“You were dead,” I murmur.

“No,” he whispers, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, no. It’s not real.”

Cassian takes my hand. Places it on his chest. I feel the pounding, the warmth beneath.

“This is real,” he says. “Listen. Feel it.”

I do. For what it seems like a long time.

He’s alive he’s alive.

That heartbeat-

I think it’s the most beautiful sound in the world.

I’m shaking still, and this bed has a strange smell.

I start to get up and he stops me. “Nes, please-“

“Please,” I choke on the word. “Can you…please, take me to your room.”

Cassian blinks at me.

But I can’t stand the scent in this room. It feels foreign. Threatening. It feels…

Not like home.

Without another question, Cassian lifts me up again. When I rest my tired head against his chest and inhale, I think-

Oh.

I think: there it is.

He carries me to his bedroom at the end of the hall. When he opens the door I’m filled with his scent. And part of me wants to explain, part of me wants to tell him why I need to be here right now but-

Too many words. Too many words I can’t find.

He gentles me down onto his bed and I turn in the sheets. I inhale.

A soothing wave of warmth caresses my body. Tells me it’s alright. Tells me I’m safe.

I feel a hand on my back. “Sleep now. You’ll be fine.”

He takes three steps away from me and each one startles me – makes me open my eyes and turn to him with a strained, “No.”

Cassian turns to me.

His shirt is ripped where my nails gripped.

His eyes – they look me over. And I see the desperation in his gaze. I see the sadness.

“Please,” I say. “Don’t leave me alone.”

I can’t bear it.

No.

No. If I’m alone – the darkness will take me and the cold waters will drown me.

I forget everything as he comes close to me. He nods, “I will never leave you alone, Nes.”

My heart stops pounding. It slows into a gentle rhythm. I’m alive again.

My bones hurt but I turn to him nonetheless. I watch him lay down next to me, his eyes intent. I don’t care about anything anymore as Cassian tentatively wraps an arm around my waist. His eyes are nothing but caring.

“Tell me everything’s going to be alright.”

He pushes me closer to him, against his chest. I’m alive, so alive-

“We will get through this, Nes,” he murmurs against my forehead. “When this is over, you will no longer live in pain. No more nightmares, no more sleepless nights. We will overcome this together. Nesta,” he says my name. So slowly. So softly. “I will never let anyone lay a single hand on you. You will get through this, Nesta. Be strong. Be strong for me, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be alright.”

“Don’t leave me,” I murmur.

“No,” he murmurs back. “Never.”

He’s so warm. Like the sun.

“Say something good.”

I hear him swallow. His voice is strained when he finally speaks, “I will be here every day and every night. You will never have to fight on your own again.”

That tug, deep within-

It tells me everything I need to know. Everything I need to say to him consists of that small, tugging feeling inside me. It’s a rubber band being pulled by two sides and finally, finally being released by one of them – followed by a cutting, ruthless snap inside my chest.

All the words I’ve ever wanted to say but could never find…they’re here. And all put together into a single one. It shines in my mind. It twists on my tongue.

But not now. Not yet.

He kisses my face once, and envelops me in his arms. I don’t know anything else but the warmth of him. I don’t care about anything else as my eyes close and I feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. I’m afraid. I’m terrified. But I can breathe now. I can breathe as long as that scent remains strong.

The monsters are coming – they’re expecting to find me weak.

He falls asleep first after hours of holding me. His grip never loosens on me. As I feel him drifting off, as I feel his breathing slowing, as I listen closely to that heart that, second by second, pulls be back to the surface and gives me back my senses… I make a decision. And it’s as clear as day in my head: I will have to learn how to rise.

The monsters are coming – and they’re expecting to take what’s mine. To destroy, wreck, crumble.

Let them come.

I’ll show them weak.


	5. Chapter 5

Cassian

I’m standing in a forest.

The sun is hidden by clouds of smoke and mist, the earth beneath my feet as black as ink. I find myself looking around at the colourless leaves, at the emptiness that surrounds me. There are no flowers on the ground, no plants save for the naked ashy trees, as tall as mountains. Nothing can survive here.

The wind rattles the grey torn leaves, blowing the hair in the nape of my neck. I turn to face that wind.

She smiles at me.

I smile at her.

And she walks towards me – so slowly, taking her time. My eyes travel over her dress, gazing over her bare shoulders and arms, stopping at the hands that reach out for me.

“Cassian,” she says.

When she touches me, I feel my pulse quickening, my brain filled with that same smoke and mist. When she touches me, I stop seeing, sensing, hearing and feeling anything that isn’t her.

Nesta.

Nesta.

“Look at you,” Nesta murmurs, widening her smile, sharp teeth gleaming despite the non-existent light. “Beautiful.”

Her hand traces the side of my face so delicately it almost feels like a phantom touch. Her eyes – a clear shade of silver – follow her movements, coming to rest on my lips.

“Are you going to kill me?” Nesta whispers.

I start. “What?”

“Will you love me?” Her tone softens with each word, a whispered question amongst the silence enveloping us. “I love you.”

This feels wrong. Her smile, her words, her movements – it all feels wrong.

But her lips are hovering over mine, just at a breath’s distance, and her scent-

It’s everywhere. Intoxicating. Maddening.

My arms wrap around her body, bringing her closer to me. I lean down, touching my lips to hers.

Nesta kisses me like the world around us is ending. Like a hurricane is coming for us and the only way to survive is to hold on to each other. She kisses me like she has never kissed me before. I open her mouth with mine, my tongue tracing the inside of her lip as my hands roam her back-

Nesta laughs against my mouth – and that laughter does not belong to her.

I pull away.

She grins at me. Cocks her head to the side, slowly. Moves towards me again. Shaking, I step away, one, two, three, four and five steps before I trip backwards and fall on the hard, wet ground. Nesta prowls toward me and it’s all wrong. She’s all wrong. Her eyes-

“Cassian,” she murmurs. Like a song. A slow, soft chanting between the trees, carried by the wind. “Cassian. Cassian.”

Her legs are on either side of my body and I can feel her pressed against me. Every inch of her. Desire courses through my veins, and I want – I need – to take her. I need to have her. But her eyes-

“No,” I say to her.

She doesn’t listen.

Nesta buries her face on my neck, breathing me in. When she speaks, it’s not her voice I hear. But something deadlier, something that crawled out of the worst kind of darkness. “I love you.” One hand at my chest pushes me down onto the hard ground, and I groan when her hand wraps around my throat, sharp nails digging into my skin, “Don’t you love me?”

“Stop,” I choke out, struggling to breathe, struggling to force my body to move, to push her off me.

Her grip is too tight.

“Nesta-“

She lets me go.

Nesta smiles with cruel delicacy down at me, then she’s no longer pinning my body down. She’s turning, walking away from me, and I get on my feet, my heart beating on my throat-

A figure stands in the shadows.

And Nesta walks to it.

To him.

She wraps her arm around his shoulders, hands caressing his neck, fingers dragging over his red hair.

No.

Eris turns his eyes to me, one of his hands on the small of her back, holding Nesta to his chest. She smiles up at him, silver eyes gleaming with happiness, with desire. And he looks down at her, touches her chin, tilts her head up to taste her lips-

A growl erupts from my chest, shaking the earth. But Nesta does not grant me a look, doesn’t do anything but kiss him back. Like she wants him. Like she loves him.

I can’t move-

Eris wraps her up in his arms. Slowly, he drags the thin straps of her dress off her shoulders, letting her dress fall to the ground. His lips do not leave hers. Not even when he opens his eyes and looks at me – two yellow eyes shining in the darkness. It’s a blood-thirsty gaze, filled with merciless cruelty.

I sink to my knees as Nesta responds to him, as she pulls away and tilts her head back, her eyes closing in satisfaction as Eris’ lips touch the tender skin on her neck, teeth dragging over her pulse.

“NO!”

She smiles, opening her eyes, turning her head to me. “You should have killed me.”

I fight the invisible chains on my body as Eris’ teeth sink down on the skin of her neck. I fight with all my strength, and I can’t move, I can’t reach her-

Nesta-

“Cassian!”

Nesta, Nesta-

“Cassian!”

Nesta in his arms, Nesta whispering his name and not mine-

I thrash against the shackles, I try to move-

“Cassian!”

I bare my teeth, the roar that comes out of my mouth shaking the world, the whole earth. I fight the chains.

A startled gasp shakes me awake and my eyes fly open.

In a single heartbeat, I have her trapped underneath me, my hands holding her wrists beside her head, and she’s looking at me with wild, untamed eyes. Not a shadow of fear in them. I realize I’m panting, lips drawn back in a sneer, sharp teeth ready to strike. I realize I’m digging my fingers into the cold, soft skin of her wrists, my face inches from hers. I realize I’m in between her spread legs, shaking in cold sweats. I realize Nesta is searching my face with furrowed brows and tender eyes. I realize-

I realize she’s not pulling me away. I realize, in that fraction of a second as I try to comprehend my surroundings, that she is doing nothing to push me off her, to defend herself from me. Because she isn’t frightened. Nesta – my Nesta – she’s intent on meeting my gaze, as if she’s simply waiting for me to regain sense of myself, of the reality around me. She’s breathless. Lips parted. But her eyes-

Clear blue.

Not silver, not threatening, not deadly.

Blue like the waterfalls in the northernmost Illyrian mountains.

I’m flooded with memories from the night before and my senses come back to me like a slap in the face. Hearing her scream my name on that beach, her body curved on the sand-

I scramble away from her so quickly it makes me dizzy. “Nesta,” I murmur. “I’m sorry.”

She’s wearing the light, pale gown from the night before, having fallen asleep on it, and yet she does not seem cold, despite the colder temperature of the Night Court. My bed is dusted with sand here and there, one of the pillows forgotten on the floor as if, during the night, Nesta had slipped closer to my body, resting her head on my pillow.

My heart is aching.

I’m scared she’ll run away from me now.

I’m fucking terrified.

Slowly, she sits up on the bed. And I’m half-expecting her to walk out that door, but instead she says, “What was it?”

And her voice-

It absolutely kills me.

It’s rougher than usual, raspier, and almost strained. From the screaming, I reckon.

I’m sitting facing her on the bottom of the bed. My body feels restless having her this close to me, but I remind myself to tie that leash tight around my neck, to stop myself from leaning over her and-

“I’m sorry, I…” my voice gets lost. Her lips are a very lovely shade. “I would never hurt you, I-“

“Cassian.”

My name.

Just my name from those lips. And it makes me want to crumble.

It’s so different from that nightmare – no cruelty in that word, no resentment, no wickedness. She says my name in a slow, exhausted murmur.

I stare and stare and stare at her. I would never get tired of doing just that for the rest of my life.

“What was it?” She repeats the question, lowering her eyes. She licks her lip. I swallow.

“Eris,” I say simply.

Her eyes raise. For half a heartbeat, it looks as if Nesta is about to say something, but then she turns her head to the window of my bedroom, the weak morning sun painting a golden streak down her face. Nesta’s hair curls at her temples, the loose hair from her bun framing her face perfectly. She’s lost in thought for a moment, in a world of her own. Then she notices me staring and turns her face to stare right back.

And we’re silent.

I want to ask her – gods, I want to ask her so many things, but I don’t. When it’s time, when she’s ready…if she’s ever ready, she’ll talk. For now, I meet her gaze and ask myself a different question: why is she still here?

I’m so used to having her walk away from me. It’s exhilarating watching her sitting with her head resting on my bed frame, looking as if she’s not ready to move away from me. Not now – not anytime soon.

I take her hand.

Nesta does not pull away.

And it makes me wonder why – although I know.

What happened yesterday – I see it in her eyes how difficult that memory is to her. And not only for the fact that she called for me, but also because of everything that happened afterwards: her gripping on to me as if her life depended on it, gasping my name as I flew her home, begging me to take her out of her room and into mine. I saw her. I saw her in a way that nobody else ever had. It wasn’t just shedding a few layers – I found her with her whole fortress in broken pieces. I saw her underneath.

I don’t know why she wanted my bedroom. I don’t understand why her heart calmed drastically the second I stepped foot in here.

I don’t know.

And the fact that she’s not pulling away now…it’s because I already saw what she most feared. What she did not want me, or anyone else, to see – the girl who feels everything so deeply, the girl with too many fears to count, the girl under the armour.

So what would be the point of her pulling away now?

My heart is thunder in my chest as she gently wraps her fingers around my hand, after a moment’s hesitation.

After a long while of us just staring at each other, at our entwined fingers, thumbs gently tracing each other’s skin every now and then, Nesta softly says, “Thank you.”

And my heart is as broken as her fortress.

“I meant what I said,” I tell her, squeezing her hand gently. “I meant it. You will never, ever, fight on your own again, Nesta.”

I see her swallow. I see her nod, very slowly. She whispers brokenly, “I know.”

“I see you,” I say. “I see you, Nesta. I will tell you this again and again, for as long as it takes for you to believe me.” Her eyes do not meet mine. “What I saw yesterday did not scare me and it did not surprise me. I know you. I know your armour and I know your heart.”

She looks at me then. “How can you understand? How can you know my heart?”

And it’s the emptiness in that tone that makes me say, “Because it is my own.”

Nesta’s hand goes limp in mine, her lips parting – so, so slowly.

She doesn’t say anything for a long time. An eternity. But then I feel her hand slowly slide up my palm, tracing the rough skin there, the tips tracing the bruises. Her fingertips trace the inside of my wrist as she says lowly, “I believe you.”

I smile.

Because I can’t help it – I smile wider.

“I haven’t slept an entire night since being turned,” she says. Her eyes turn to me after having observed the pathway of fire on my skin left by her touch. “I haven’t felt this well-rested in years.”

“You woke up with my teeth almost pressed to your throat,” I remind her despite myself, ashamed by my actions, by my carelessness in touching her that way.

“I will only allow your teeth that close to my throat,” Nesta says. “Not anyone else’s.”

The monsters in my nightmare smile at me. And even if I try to push them away they smile wider, fangs showing. I replay it in my head, his lips on her skin, his teeth-

“I know you wouldn’t hurt me,” she continues. Her fingers reach over to touch my forearm, tracing along the veins. “It was my mistake. You looked as if you were in pain, and I couldn’t bear it, so I woke you-“

“You couldn’t bear it?”

Her eyes snap up to mine again as if me repeating the words back to her has just made her realize her confession.

Nesta doesn’t take it back.

She nods in silence.

And my veins are burning up at her touch, my mind fumbling with thoughts and ideas and moments of her. It’s a hurricane of emotions all at once – just with the briefest of touches.

“You said my name,” she says, in no more than a whisper. “Was I hurting you?”

And she already knows it, so I say, “Yes.”

A pang of discomfort flashes in her eyes. Nesta says, “How?”

I shake my head, “It wasn’t real.”

“How?” She repeats. Her fingers stop, but they do not pull away.

I eye her hand as I speak, “Letting another touch you. The way I want to touch you.” 

She doesn’t ask who – she puts the pieces together quickly. Her eyebrows furrow and she says nothing.

She says nothing for a long time. Her fingers tighten on my arm. My heart races as those blue eyes stare up at me, so full of an emotion I can’t place, and it completely shatters in my chest as she says, loud and clear, “I wouldn’t let anyone else touch me but you.”

My world tumbles over.

I’m no longer breathing when she adds, “I don’t want anyone else to touch me but you.”

One

Two

Three

And Nesta is slowly crawling her way up to me.

Four

Five

Six

Seven

And she’s hesitating.

Eight

And she’s touching my shoulders, guiding herself to sit on my lap. My wings react to her touch – hands so close to the membrane that they flare up instinctively, and I’m so lost, running to the edge of the cliff knowing I’ll fall, knowing I’ll be gone for good, and not caring – not caring at all because it’s her. It’s her eyes on mine, her body against mine. It’s her. It’s her.

Nine

And Nesta’s eyes trace my wings with careful fascination, hands sliding down my chest. I see it in her eyes as she gazes down at me again – I see her running towards that cliff, too. And not caring. I see her throwing away years and years of layers and masks. I see no conflict in her now – it’s me and her running. Just me and her.

Ten

She kisses me.

Everything I ever thought I knew is lost. It’s a tenderness I have never experienced before, a love I couldn’t have dreamed about in the wildest parts of my imagination. I wrap my arms around her and Nesta is lifting her arms to touch my face.

She’s cold and warm at the same time.

She’s the whole universe in my arms.

The world stops moving when I feel her breathe in, when her breath fans over my mouth a moment after. She’s so close. Every bit of her so close.

Nesta pulls her lips away slowly. Her eyes search my face.

Again. More. More. Again.

I see she’s at a loss for words. I see her opening her mouth to try and say it-

I shake my head at her. “I know,” I whisper. “It’s okay. I know, sweetheart.”

Her eyes fill with tears.

I kiss her nose, I kiss her cheeks, I kiss her cupid’s bow and I kiss her chin. I fill her face with small, gentle kisses that make her close her eyes. And when that tear falls I catch it with my lips, too.

“What are you thinking about?” She whispers, touching her forehead to mine.

“A million things,” I say, pushing her closer to me. “I’m thinking that this is what I have been looking for all my life.”

And – there.

There it is.

That smile. That little lift of the corners of her mouth that makes my heart soar and ache at the same time. That little breath that passes for a soft, unexpected laugh she doesn’t know how to contain. There it is, that hidden happiness underneath all that trauma, that chaos, that destruction, that death.

There it is.

“You smiled for me.”

“You say that as if I haven’t ever done it.”

I shake my head, “Not like this.” I trace her cheek, not willing to pull away from her in fear that if I do she’ll be just another dream. “Never like this.”

“Cassian.”

“Yes,” I say. “Yes.”

And she’s smiling then. Truly. It’s a smile that reaches her eyes, crinkles them. It’s a smile that erases the hopelessness, the terror of yesterday. I know Nesta and I will never fully heal, never fully forget – but this is a start. It’s a start for both of us. And I know that it’ll take time for her – especially for her – to fully get rid of her armour. But right now, she’s baring herself to me, willing herself to let her emotions come through, and that…

That is more than enough.

Her eyes search mine. I see the shadows in them, but they are softer. Lighter. Brighter. Even as she says, “You see me.”

“I see you.”

It’ll take a long time, indeed. But this…this is everything.

I take the leap off that cliff when she kisses me again. And I fall

Down

And down

And further down,

Until I collide with her at full impact.

Nesta’s hands slide up my face to wrap themselves in my hair, and when her fingers twist in the curls I know I’m at her mercy. I know I’m lost and gone for good then.

She’s no longer smiling. Her mouth presses harder against mine and her body does the same. I feel myself losing control, losing myself in her, but Nesta urges me on, taking my lip between her teeth and dragging it back gently.

Her nose touches mine as she leaves sweet little pecks around my mouth – just a soft press of her lips on my skin, and just enough to leave me breathless and wanting more of her. Needing more of her.

She’s so tender with her movements – so careful. Heartbreakingly sweet. I’m reminded of the powerful high fae in Tarquin’s office, power radiating off every pore and muscle, death swirling around in her hands and ready to strike, and how different she is now; how different she was the night before, clinging to me, calling my name.

So many sides to Nesta – so many tools at her display, ready to be used to protect herself, her heart.

Except she doesn’t protect her heart from me – not anymore.

She knows she doesn’t have to.

“This is what I should have done,” she whispers, so suddenly I’m taken aback by the gentle voice. “After we got out of that battlefield. When you were healing. This is what I should have done.”

I don’t care – she’s here now, with me-

“I should’ve been there.”

It’s me who takes her face between my hands now. It’s me who’s searching her eyes as I say, “You have nothing to apologize for, Nes. No, don’t shake your head at me. This, now,” I smile, because I can’t help it. I can’t stop the bubbling happiness inside my chest, “here, is what I care about.”

Her thumb traces my bottom lip. She says to me, “I never…”, but pauses, lowering her eyes and sighing to herself. She looks for the words. Then, “There has never been anyone. Not like this.”

“We’ll learn with each other. There has never been anyone for me like this either.”

“What about Morrigan?”

And I’m not surprised to hear her asking – yet it still makes me pause. I touch her cheek, “I loved Mor a long time ago. For centuries. I always wondered, you know,” I make a path down her cheek, fingers travelling over her neck. Her eyes are intent on me. “I always wondered why I kept staying when I knew she would never want me like that. I realized a while ago that I stayed because it was familiar; I was used to loving Mor – because I didn’t know anything else.”

“What changed?”

“Time passed,” I respond. “And it made me realize that if it was true, if my feelings were that deep, then they would not go away. And they did.”

“Was that before or after you met me?” She asks.

“It was a process. I had given up on Mor long before you were even born,” I smile slightly, dropping my hand and taken her hand in mine. “When you came along – it just became clearer.”

“What became clearer?”

“That I was always supposed to wait for you.”

Her heart quickens – I can hear it. And it makes me lean down and touch my lips to her pulse. Every terrible nightmare is gone the moment she lets out a breath, the moment I feel her body reacting to my touch.

“It was always you,” I murmur between kisses. I kiss the column of her neck, and my hand goes to the back of her head as she tilts her head back – for me. “And you only.”

Her eyes flutter when I reach her jawline. Nesta turns her head to me once more, her lips close to mine. This time it’s me who claims hers.

When I feel her taste on the tip of my tongue I know that leash is about to break. When Nesta wraps her arms around my neck and pushes me down with her – I feel like tearing completely.

And she unleashes me completely with just one word.

“Cassian.”

She says it with longing, dragging the word out on her lips as if she likes the feel of it on her tongue. I’m drunk off her. I’m completely lost, unredeemable on top of her body.

And again, “Cassian.”

Her eyes are closed as my lips touch her cheek. As my hands trail over her sides. And I realize, as I move my lips to hers, I realize I will never get used to having her this close to me, in my arms, saying my name underneath her breath. I will never get used to having her smile at me, murmuring words in my ear as I touch her body.

I will never get used to seeing her – the real her – looking up at me with tired, tender eyes.

“Do you know how scared I was?” I whisper against her skin. “Do you know how terrified I was yesterday?”

She exhales slowly as I kiss that spot underneath her chin.

“I felt like I was dying, Nes. You filled that beach with darkness and I couldn’t- I couldn’t find you-“

Her grip on me tightens. I find myself with my head buried on her shoulder, breathing her in, telling myself over and over that she is real, she is real, and she is here.

“You did find me,” she says against my ear. “You always do.”

And when I pull away to look into her eyes – they are no longer haunted. For now. They are shining – bright, so bright as they gaze up at me.

“And you always will,” she finishes.

Nesta swallows and then – then she’s moving underneath me and I only realize what she’s doing when I’m in between her legs. She lets out a breath as I align myself with her, as my body comes in contact with hers. I’m lost. I’m gone.

I’m alive.

Her lips are parted. A question in her eyes.

My mouth goes completely dry.

“Nes-“

“Please,” she murmurs, hands clawing at my arms, soft and urgent at the same time.

Even though I know what she’s asking me – my mind is spinning. I look down at her with wide eyes, a million more questions behind my own, and touch her cheek gently. And the fact that she’s willing to be with me this way-

“Nesta,” I say her name as gently as my touch on her cheek. “I need you to tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

I tell myself I will not touch her without hearing the words first. I urge myself to keep my mind and cock very far away from each other, but the way she’s pressing up against me is clouding my thoughts and I need to fumble through them to even form a coherent sentence.

Her cheeks are tinted pink.

My focus snaps to the flush of her skin, to the scent that clings to her.

The beast in me is roaring. Loud.

Nesta trails her eyes down my body and stop at my waist before diving lower – to the clear evidence of my wanting. Of my need for her. And before I can say a word to stop her, Nesta raises her hips and-

Gods. Mother above.

Her clothes are too thin. I feel every inch of her press against my trousers, dragging over just the right amount for me to lose my damn mind and the last bit of my sanity. Still, I close my eyes, losing a breath. 

I struggle to speak, “Nes-“

She does it again.

And again.

Something flashes in her eyes when I open mine, when I stare down at her. And I know what it is as she moves her hips against mine one more time, provoking a low growl deep in my throat.

Curiosity.

The next time she does it, I moan out loud. She blinks.

And I remember enough of her words, her hesitance and her discomfort on that first day, that I regain my senses and push her hips down. I whisper, “Nesta.” It comes out broken – two raspy syllables.

“Please,” she says again – and this time is so low I almost don’t hear her. All my other senses are blank canvases. Her scent is filling me up-

I hear the wanting in her voice. It cuts me up. And I see it, too, when my eyes open and are met with her blue, flaming ones.

Mine mine mine.

She sweeps me up – and there I go. Gone with the wind.

She needs this – I need this. 

I taste her lips one more time. I leave the beast roaring and, instead, focus on what sounds she’s making. I focus on the movements of her body, the clenching of her thighs whenever she feels my tongue trace hers, the gripping of her nails on my arms whenever my body moves into hers.

I kiss her throat. 

Her hands are shaking and I take them in mine. Gently, I kiss each one of her palms, and I raise my eyes to her as I dare to kiss all the way down her cleavage.

Her scent is stronger as I go down. As I drag my nose down the length of her dress, passing through the crevice of her breasts, her stomach, her bellybutton.

Nesta’s eyes are stuck to me, a predator’s focus, as I move her hands to rest on top of my shoulders. I move further down. Touch her ankles, so softly, and move my hands up, up and up the outside of her legs. And I’m watching her reaction closely, I’m looking for any signs that tell me to stop. But her wide eyes are not worried, not scared.

Her skin is burning.

My hands reach her thighs, dragging the skirts up as I go. I feel the band of her undergarments as I push them up to her waist. I hear her swallow. I look up.

“Do you want me to taste you?”

Nesta’s hands twitch on my shoulders at the question. It’s lovely, indeed, seeing her at a loss for words, stumbling her way through the thoughts in her mind as her cheeks redden, as her arousal grows.

She nods. Just a dip of her chin.

I smile, “Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?”

She glares down at me, although half-heartedly, and then looks away, frowning. “Brute.”

I muffle my laugh by burying my nose on the skirts of her dress. Her scent is so strong – it makes me close my eyes and dig my fingers on the outside of her thighs.

Nesta trembles as my fingers slip under the sides of her white undergarments.

“Is that so?”

I hook my fingers around them.

Her mouth tightens. Her eyes flutter again.

And this time, I really do lift her skirts – and bury my nose along the lines of the white material.

Nesta clenches her teeth, nails digging into my shoulders. I huff a laugh against her. Lift my head only to say, “It seems this brute has made you wet.”

She’s breathless. “Is it that rare when you are actually capable of having that sort of effect on a female? Is that why you look so smug?”

This little game – she loves it. I love it.

And we are so good at it.

I grin, letting my hands drag over the inside of her thighs, fingers tracing the outer lines of her undergarments. Nesta breathes in as my finger sweeps across the wetness I find there.

And her words are forever lost in her throat.

Slowly, I push the material down her legs. She closes her eyes.

“Nes,” I say. “Sweetheart. Look at me.”

She does. 

And I repeat the question, intent on hearing her say it, “Do you want my mouth on you?”

Nesta whispers, “Yes.”

And takes her lip between her teeth, eyeing me.

It’s enough for me.

“Tell me when you want to stop.”

She nods but she looks as if she doesn’t hear a single word.

I push the skirts up, spreading her legs wider. I find her more ready than I anticipated.

I kiss the inside of the thighs I’ve been dreaming about for months and months on end. I drag my tongue over the sensitive skin at hearing her drag out a breath, and trace my teeth ever so slightly, just enough to let her know where my mouth is going next.

My body tells me to hurry – tell me to taste and take as I please. But I know better. So I take my time, teasing her with kisses on her legs, little touches that just barely reach where she wants me.

Nesta huffs, working her jaw.

I laugh against her thigh, “Growing impatient, sweetheart?”

“Cassian-“

The first lick makes her gasp, her thighs immediately closing around my head. I push them apart. Slowly, I lick her again, my eyes raised to hers.

She makes a deep sound in the back of her throat – but that isn’t enough for me. I want to hear her.

My fingers push down her hips as my thumbs hook around the back of her thighs, trying to keep her still as I close my mouth around her most sensitive spot. And Nesta is a gasping mess beneath me, body squirming and tensing, eyes closing and head thrown back.

She’s a delightful sight.

I want to have her like this forever engraved on my memory.

Her fingers quickly move to my hair as I work my tongue on her. Her taste is indescribable. I could lose myself on her taste and smell for the rest of my days. I could hear her whisper my name under her breath for longer.

I work in small steps at first – alternating between gentle kisses and licking long stripes. Until Nesta lets out a broken moan, her cheek against the pillow, muffling the sound, that makes something snap inside me.

And then I’m feasting on her.

Relishing her taste on my tongue, loving the way her hips move in time with my mouth, the way she bites her finger when she’s trying to contain a particular loud sound. Her lips rosy, her cheeks flushed, her chest heaving with each difficult breath, each gasp-

I feel her grip tightening on my hair, as much as I feel her body going taut way too soon. When she lets out a particular loud moan that sends a tingling down my spine, I stop. And I move my lips to her thighs again.

Her legs are shaking.

“Cassian.”

Her hands on my hair attempt to push me back to where she wants me, but my mouth refrains from giving her what she desires. I leave little bites on the top of her thigh, fingers caressing her long, lean legs.

Another layer shedding. Another wall brought down as she cries out at the feel of my finger tracing the same spot where my tongue had been, as Nesta bites down on her bottom lip, fingers pulling at my hair and nails digging in my scalp.

She’s begging now, “Please. Cass-“

And it reaches a point where even I can’t take it anymore. I need to see her unravel her before my eyes – because of me.

I take my hand away, gripping her hips. I lift them slightly so my mouth has better access, and the moan she lets out when my tongue flicks over that same spot makes me grip her skin tighter, makes me lick faster, deeper.

And Nesta unravels with a gasp and a tug at my curls, thighs fighting my hands to close on my head, her whole body shaking with tremors. I lift her skirts higher, kissing the soft stomach underneath so as to help her come back down. My hands caress the back and the side of her legs ever so gently, as I lick my lips, still tasting her. 

Her body is exhausted now, her legs giving out and lying flat on the mattress. Her eyes are still closed when her hands grip my shoulders again and pull me to her – with all her immortal strength.

I grin as she wraps her arms around my neck, burying her face on my shoulder. I kiss her neck softly.

Another wall down, indeed.

She is smiling against my neck.

“What is it?”

Nesta shakes her head, gripping me tighter when I try to pull away from her. I suddenly realize why – she does not want me to see her face.

“Nes?”

She buries her face deeper. The heat from her cheeks burns me.

And I almost can’t believe the sight in front of me.

Nesta-

Nesta embarrassed. Of me.

“Sweetheart,” I chuckle, letting her go. “What-“

“I just didn’t know-“

“It could feel like that?”

She stares up at me.

And it’s such a sight-

I almost can’t believe it. I almost don’t believe it. The wide eyes, the taint of her cheeks, the grin she tries to hide-

It’s all so uncharacteristically Nesta. And yet.

Her eyes are drooping slightly, her breathing still hard.

And I’m so taken aback that what comes out of mouth is, “Better than your hand, then?”

Nesta turns her eyes away from me as if she’s exasperated. I laugh against her cheek, kissing her there. She turns to me then. Arms still around me.

My heart is full. So incredibly full as I see that trace of a little smile, laced with shyness and pleasure.

And we stare at each other, my forehead against hers, noses gentle nudging, until Nesta’s face changes. Until the air around us changes and it’s heavy, it’s electrified, it’s-

I have so many words. So many questions.

She does, too.

For she opens her mouth and starts to say, her tone gentle, “Cassian, I-“

But then we both hear it.

The winnowing. Voices down below, far from us.

The rest of our Court of Dreams – they’re here. From the Summer Court.

We both look towards the window of my bedroom, unmoving. Our faces solemn. For a second I almost forgot where we were. I almost forgot the events of last night, the conflict on our doorstep and the enemies knocking on your doors disguised as friends.

I kiss her forehead as I feel her scent change – it’s nervousness.

“It’s alright,” I say against her skin.

But my body reacts differently.

I feel my blood boiling.

And I know why – I don’t want anyone near her right now. Near us. I don’t want any eyes on her. That need to claim runs hot in my blood, and that need to protect and shelter her makes me stay still against her, eyes closing to regain my thoughts.

And it’s just my family.

When other males look at her-

My fists crumple the sheets. And Nesta looks at me intently, her eyes flooding with memories of yesterday. Probably thinking how she’ll explain it to the others – what they saw. Wondering what I told them.

“You can stay here,” I tell her. “I’ll explain.”

She shakes her head, “I’m not going to be weak anymore.”

“You’re not w-“

“Let’s clean ourselves up first,” she says, breathing deeply. Her hand stops at my chest, right above my heart. She closes her eyes, calming herself. “I will explain it myself.”

Cassian.

I feel Rhys tugging at my defences, asking permission to come into my mind. I don’t allow it. A single crack opens, and I tell him,

Not now. Give me some time. Can you all go to the Townhouse? For just half an hour?

It’s enough to give him an idea.

But Rhys is banging against my defences – and I feel his urgency.

“Cassian?” Nesta asks at seeing my face.

“He’s trying to tell me-“

We don’t have time, Cassian. Spring has allied with Autumn.

My hands shake.

“Cassian?”

I move off her, gently. I feel the blood drain off my face.

“What the hell is going on?” Nesta says in a whisper.

Rhys let me see enough. The message is clear.

“We need to meet them downstairs,” I say, stepping off the bed. “They have news.”

Nesta pushes herself off.

“What news?” She growls.

I turn to her.

I let Rhys show me the rest. Fire dances in my veins. Anger fills my mind. I tell her, “Tamlin has just joined this war.”


	6. Chapter 6

Nesta

My sisters come to me first.

And they do not say a word as they approach me, my back turned to them as I sit on the side of my perfectly made bed, not a single crinkle on the sheets, not a pillow out of place.

My own bed – not Cassian’s.

I have been apart from him for just half an hour, time enough for both of us to shower and get dressed, and there is already a deep rooted anxiousness growing inside my chest; an aching within me that is somehow laced with a displaced sort of feeling, like I’m desperately trying to claw myself back to the female he held in his arms just last night – that same female that smiled and blushed and whispered his name against his hair as he touched her. And yet I find I’m not able to, because in these brief moments of loneliness, I realize I have already forgotten her.

Separating myself from him was hell.

Watching his wings drop as his lips touched my forehead completely shattered what is left of my heart. Feeling his dread, his fear…it made me want to wrap my arms around him, hold him close to my chest, and prevent him from going anywhere far from me. And what happened just this morning, when the sun began to paint the skies gold, I-

I let him touch me.

And there hadn’t been a single bone in my body wishing to pull away, fearing that touch and the feelings that it provoked. Last night he’d seen me in my weakest state. He’d seen me as naked as I could possibly be while still wearing clothes. Cassian saw, first hand, what the darkness inside me looked like, what the nightmares that haunted me each night sounded like – and still, he hadn’t so much as hesitated on that beach. He hadn’t turned away from me, hadn’t recoiled at that darkness. He had stayed not despite that darkness – but because of it.

I should be mortified.

I should be terrified by what I let him see, by having begged him to stay by my side during the night, like a child running from the monsters under her bed.

And yet I do not.

I find that I just…

I just want him here with me.

I find that I would not mind having more mornings next to him, watching the sleep slowly disappear from his eyes, the crooked smile and the gentle, yet rough voice that accompanied it. I find that, surprisingly, I don’t care what the others, what my sisters, might think of me for the state they found me in last night.

It startles me.

Almost as much as that emptiness startles me. It makes me want to go search the house for him. Go to him. Touch him. Because I know my heart will only rest when I have him in front of me, unworried, wearing that usual teasing grin, wings spreading arrogantly behind him.

Elain sits beside me, one hand on my back.

I’m suddenly reminded of their presence, of Feyre’s concerned, lingering eyes on me. I cannot bear the look in their eyes, so when Elain gently asks, “Nesta, what happened?”

I decide to tell them the truth without hesitation. “Sometimes,” I start, taking a breath to calm myself down. “Sometimes I lose track of where I am. I end up in the cauldron, or in that battlefield, all over again. Sometimes I can fight it, sometimes I cannot. What happened last night,” I say, looking down at the hands resting on my lap, memories of his lips kissing each one of them. My face heats, and I fight the instinct to hide it. I repeat, “What happened last night was just that. Cassian helped me through it.”

Feyre blinks down at me. And I know that she knows, that everybody knows what he did for me last night, and maybe a sort of idea of what happened with us this morning, but Feyre makes no comment. She allows me the time to explain, the time to take the words back if I so wish.

I do not.

Elain murmurs, “Nesta…Feyre and I agreed not to ask you. But…” she takes my hand in hers, and I let myself be comforted by my sister’s warm, comforting touch. “But if you’re in pain we should know. If you’re struggling we should be there to help you, as well. Out of the three of us, you’re the one that-“

“I just want to forget,” I tell them. “I don’t want to keep reliving it.”

Considering our current situation, that is a wish far from coming true.

“We don’t forget,” Feyre says quietly, leaning against the armoire, her arms crossed over her chest. “We move on but we never forget, Nesta. What you went through…what you and Elain both went through – it was terrible. Some of us take more time to adjust to our new wounds than others, and there is no shame in that. But forcing yourself to forget and ignore it will only make it worse. Believe me – I have tried.”

Her words and the look that crosses her eyes in that instant makes me realize that my sisters – they had not found it any easier to heal, either. Despite the smiles, despite the love they found…there was still a lot to fight through – I could see it in the shadows of Feyre’s eyes, in the way that Elain hung her head slightly. I had been selfish not to notice, not to see that, just because there was a bright smile in their faces and a light in their eyes, it did not mean that they lasted all hours of the day.

It did not mean that they didn’t still have their own monsters to fight.

So I remind myself that it’s alright. It’s alright to feel and it’s alright to speak and it’s alright to show emotion. For they feel what I feel. They have been through what I have been through. And we have all made it out together. I entwine my fingers with Elain. I look up at Feyre. And I whisper, “He helps me forget.”

It’s that one confession hat changes everything.

Feyre stops, staring with parted lips and wide eyes. Elain’s heartbeat changes from one second to the other. My mind screams at me, but I place the part of myself that is angry and ashamed at those words, at that apparent weakness, inside a cage and I lock the door. And I force myself to continue, “It has taken me a long time to realize that I have been running from the only thing that will help me sleep at night. That will help my mind rest. That will help me…help me heal. I don’t wish to keep doing that. I can’t.”

They are silent.

Elain squeezes my hand, as if encouraging me, as if she knows there are still a lot more words left in my mouth. I take a breath. I look at both of my sisters and I tell them, “I want things to change. I want to help. I want to do what I can to keep this war as far away from this Court as possible – as far away from you. So I want to help,” I swallow down my nervousness. I squeeze Elain’s hand right back. “I want to join you downstairs. If…if that’s alright.”

When I look up at Feyre, her face is alight with a smile. It’s a smile that does not leave her lips as she comes to sit next to me, as she wraps an arm around my waist. Elain leans in, a similar smile on her own face, and leaves a kiss on my cheek, letting her head rest against mine.

I want to dive into a river of my own tears.

I want to let myself feel brave for having shed that last layer of myself.

So I hold my sisters.

I hold them for who knows how long. I hold them for the sake of the long lost memories of a life not lived and taken from us too soon, of moments of brief happiness found in the children we were, who had truly no perception of the dangerous world they lived in. Children who played in the backyard of an old but beautiful mansion, children who slipped into each other’s beds in the middle of the night because we couldn’t keep the monsters out of our dreams on our own.

I hold them because I need them. Because I feel like one of those children.

And for the first time in a long while, I don’t feel any shame in admitting it.

“Where are they?” I ask Feyre, my voice lower than I intended.

She knows who I mean.

“Cassian is downstairs with Rhys,” she responds, her hand still around my waist. “They’re discussing what do about our armies, Mor and Amren have just joined them. They sent Azriel and his spies to the border of the Spring Court to check if the message we received was true, and they’re waiting for him below.”

“Who told you?” Is my next question.

I realize I have many.

“Eris sent word,” Feyre mutters, her gaze bitter. “One of his spies – or so he called it – came with a message addressed to Rhys,” the bitterness reaches her lips as they curl, “and Rhys only. It only said that Tamlin’s army was headed to Autumn.”

“You don’t believe him,” I note.

Feyre hesitates, but shakes her head. “Tamlin is not that stupid. Nothing Beron offered him would convince Tamlin to start another war.”

“Would he not do it to have you back?” Elain points out. “Even…after what he did to help.”

Feyre shakes her head. “No.”

And she looks convinced of that.

“Would he not do it to hurt you?”

Feyre looks at me then, and this time when I ask her, she doesn’t answer.

We’re silent for a while, still holding on to each other as if we’re kids again, listening to each other breathe.

Until Elain sighs softly, “I hope Azriel is alright.”

“Of course he is,” Feyre says. “You don’t have to worry about him, Elain.”

“But I do,” Elain says quietly, not looking at either of us. “I worry everyday.”

Feyre and I look at each other then – and it’s as if we’re thinking of the same thing.

Lucien.

He left for the Spring Court. If it’s true that Tamlin allied himself with Beron-

We do not say it. Not while Elain is present. We don’t know whether she has considered it – Lucien betraying us. She must have, and maybe she’s trying to ignore that possibility, but-

But it has been a question swimming around Feyre’s mind. I can see it.

“He’s coming home soon,” Feyre tells her, looking away from me with a meaningful dip of her chin – a silent agreement to stay silent. “He’s coming home to you – and then we’ll have our answers. In the meantime, we should join them both downstairs and discuss some things.”

Both of them turn to look at me. Feyre sighs, a sad smile on her face now as she holds out her hand to me. “Shall we go?”

The three of us stand at once and, united as one, we descend.

***

The main office of the House of Wind bears a round table in its centre with no chairs. A map of Prythian is placed on top, so large that its sharp edges hang out of the shiny dark wood. Morrigan leans her elbows on it, her hands weaving into her blond curls in exasperation.

“None of it makes sense,” she tells Rhysand. “None of what you just said makes any gods-damned sense.”

“I agree with you,” the High Lord nods, one hand underneath his chin. He wears the same solemn, tight expression as the rest of us as he speaks. “But we can’t ignore this, Mor. Separate the issues you associate with Eris, for just a second,” he winces as he says it, as he sees Morrigan’s face change. His tone is compassionate when he continues, “Think of it from a strategic point of view: why would Eris lie? Why all these warnings?”

“Distracting us-“

“From what?” Rhysand looks to his right at Cassian, resting both of his hands on the map.

“You don’t know,” Cassian shoots back, crossing his arms over his chest. “For all we know that rat may very well be orchestrating his own damn plan behind our back, while still having our alliance.”

Rhysand’s head hangs low.

Feyre’s hand rests on his back, gently moving it back and forth.

I’m forcing myself to stay still and not cross this room – to Cassian. I tell myself to focus, to try and look for a loop hole in this badly told story, but-

“He can betray us after he gets what he wants. Even if all he said was true. Even if Tamlin got his damn army marching for Autumn – he can still stab us in the back, Rhys.”

“What do you suppose we do?” Morrigan asks him.

The beast inside me snarls at her tone, at the way her eyes flash to him. The beast inside me wants to take two steps and throw her out the balcony just for that tone alone-

Cassian looks at her, then he looks to Rhys as if he’s containing the words he already spoken. I see them flash in his eyes, all the same: Kill him.

“Whatever secrets he’s holding, we need them,” Feyre tells him. “We can’t know his secrets if he’s dead, Cass.”

Cassian looks ready to throw himself out that balcony, too. He sighs, pacing around the room.

I’m restless, impatient. I feel the anxiousness clawing at me as I watch his wings drag on the floor. I want to hold him in place and tell him to feel something else because I can’t bear it.

“Have you been testing your powers, girl?”

Amren is suddenly at my side, having abandoned her seat on the couch. Her question startles me.

“What? No. Why?”

She eyes me up and down.

I’m uncomfortable.

“You reek of it,” she says. Then she looks around the room, as if asking the others if they can feel it, too.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean you should test them,” she continues, crossing her arms. “You should let them go free every once in a while.”

I blink down at her, confused and frightened. I furrow my eyebrows, hoping nothing of that sort is detected on my scent.

“Why?”

“Because the damage you created on that beach would’ve been enough to wipe out an army if you wanted to.”

All heads snap in our direction. And I suddenly feel apprehensive as I turn to her, my heart beating in my throat. “What damage?”

“Amren.”

It’s Cassian who says it – like a warning, like he’s pleading.

“You didn’t tell her?”

“Tell me what?” And now I’m shaking, a growl building in my chest as I look around the room, letting my eyes rest on him.

I feel Amren’s eyes jump between my sister and Rhysand. “It could be an advantage,” she begins to say.

“My sister is not to be made an advantage,” Feyre replies, surprisingly cold.

I’m boiling now. “What damage?”

Amren looks at me. “Last night – you destroyed Tarquin’s beach. Don’t you-?”

Don’t you recall?

It’s what she wants to ask. But Amren sees the look on my face and her words fall short.

I look across the room.

Cassian closes his eyes for a second, as if the memory pains him. My teeth are clenched, my hands are holding my elbows to stop them from shaking. I await an explanation – and I want it from him. He found me, so he knows better than anyone what happened to me.

He crosses the room in just three strides. He’s searching my face, reaching for my hand, as he murmurs, “When I found you there was only a cloud of black smoke enveloping you and the whole beach. Somehow you managed to dig a seventy inch hole in the sand, and you were lying there – unmoving. You managed to push out the sea-“

“Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Nes-“

I can feel myself panicking as I turn to Rhysand. “Tarquin, did he-“

“Tarquin does not hold this against you or us. Be assured, Nesta, everything is alright. None of what happened ruined our relationship with Summer. It was an accident,” Rhysand says, his tone light.

“Tarquin solved it in a matter of minutes,” Morrigan adds.

“We were going to tell you, Nesta,” Feyre assures.

“When?” I snarl at her. “When I hurt one of you?”

Feyre knows the best choice she can make at this moment is keeping quiet. I turn to Cassian, and find my voice to be a broken whisper as I tell him, “I could have killed you.”

“You would never hurt me, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

How many times had that one word brought me back to myself – to him – the night before?

You would never hurt me.

But I would – I almost did. And just the thought-

“How come she did not?” Amren steps in. “She could have. She was not in control of herself or her powers, so how come?”

Cassian turns his eyes away from me to look at Amren, a muscle twisting in his jaw. She ignores this, looking up at him with ancient eyes and a raised chin, a pensive look to her. For the briefest second, I wonder if Cassian is going to attempt to throw her off this balcony. I wonder if, despite her new body, he would stand a chance at that.

He says, “Her shadows disappeared the moment I found her. The moment I stepped into that hole and held her, they faded away.”

“Just like that?” Amren insists.

“Just like that,” Cassian repeats, his lip curling.

“Hum,” is the only answer she gives him as she eyes us both. There is a heavy pause. Amren makes no more comments and begins to turn to walk away-

“Would you train me?” I ask her.

She stops, turning to me. Amren raises an eyebrow in my direction.

“Would you help me control them and use them – in case I need it in this war?”

It takes every fibre of my being so say the words, to let go of the pride I have fought with teeth and claws to protect. But it’s a necessity. The images running around my mind, the thought of causing harm to anyone in this room – to Cassian – makes me forget about such things.

“We will make sure you don’t need to use them, Nesta,” Morrigan says from the table. “We will make sure it does not come to a war.”

“But what if does?” I look at her over Cassian’s shoulder. The question in everyone’s mind. I pause, and then I tell no one in particular, “Even if by some miracle we are able to prevent this war, I still need to get this under control.” It turn to Amren. “Will you help me?”

“Yes,” Amren says simply.

I breathe a “Thank you.”

And Amren dips her chin in a cordial gesture. As friendly as it gets.

Cassian takes my hand in his.

I look up at him, at the shadows darkening the lovely hazel of his eyes. I sense their eyes on the touch I allow, but I do not take my hand away. I can’t. His eyes lower, his brows furrowed and a little crease forming in between them that I want to kiss away. He opens his mouth to say-

“Azriel.”

But it’s Elain’s whisper that breaks the silence in the room.

She practically runs to the spymaster as he lands on the main balcony of the House. Her arms are around his waist before his wings are lowered, her cheek resting on his chest. From inside the house, we watch them hold each other; we watch Azriel wrapping his arms – and wings – around my sister, a cocoon of gentle darkness embracing them both. We watch his sombre eyes search her face, his bruised fingers tracing her cheek. Their foreheads touch.

Cassian squeezes my hand.

When I look to him, his eyes say to me, Everything will be alright.

And mine ask, How do you know?

And the gentle, slightly forced smile he gives me says, I vowed to protect you. It’s what I’m going to do.

I wasn’t scared for my safety. I was terrified for his – and my sisters’.

The spymaster and Elain walk through the double doors, their arms around each other.

“Tamlin’s army is in place, unmoving for the time being. There doesn’t seem to be any indicators that it will move to Autumn anytime soon,” Azriel announces.

“He was lying,” Morrigan spits.

“Maybe,” Azriel tells her. “Maybe not.”

“What did your spies see?” Feyre asks.

“Everything is normal,” Azriel says. “Calm. Tamlin himself was in the middle of a hunt.”

The looks of confusion around the room mimic each other. And then Elain, in an urgent tone, asks Azriel, “Lucien?”

A dark, almost sad darkness flashes in the spymaster’s eyes – but it’s gone as soon as he looks down at her. He tells her, “Still Tamlin’s emissary.”

“Did you see him?”

“Yes,” he says. “He is well – in Tamlin’s company.”

Elain actually breathes a sigh of relief. And for a fraction of a second, I wonder how much damage that small action caused inside Azriel, as his eyes lower from her face. I wonder if, even if Elain looks as if she only sees him, the spymaster thinks he’s not that worthy of her attention and her time.

I wonder if there’s a part of him that expects her to leave – and he’s just choosing to relish the time he has with her.

“As Spring’s emissary, we should send a letter to Lucien,” Morrigan says. “Just to be sure.”

There are nods around the room.

But then, “What if he betrays you, too?” Amren points out from behind us.

“I trust him,” Feyre tells her. “I trust Lucien to tell us the truth.”

Maybe not Tamlin, but Lucien – Lucien is different, in her perspective.

“It’s dangerous to trust foxes, High Lady,” Amren muses. “They can be cunning.”

“He will not betray us,” Elain interjects. “Because Lucien is not like his father – or his brothers.”

And because Elain is his mate.

If Tamlin had willingly signed up for a war against the Night Court – then Lucien would have already come to collect Elain, take her somewhere safe. He would’ve abandoned Spring by now, abandoned his loyalties, to protect his mate – even if she preferred somebody else. Which meant Eris might potentially be lying.

Cassian asks, “What now?”

And he’s still holding my hand.

The warmth of him is intoxicating, provoking.

Rhysand sighs. “We send the letter. We wait. When the answer comes – we’ll think what action to take concerning Eris and his Court. Cassian,” he says. Cassian turns to him, gently taking me with him, keeping me at his side, as if he cannot let me go. “I want you to go to the Illyrian camps – warn the armies one more time. Give them a new training schedule. We need them ready – just in case”

He looks down at Feyre as he says those last words.

Feyre touches his arm – a secret answer for a silent question.

Cassian nods at him, lowering his eyes, “It’ll be done.”

“Amren,” says Feyre. “Will you send a message to Varian? We need Summer’s armies ready, as well.”

Amren bows her head, “It will be done.”

“I’ll talk to Viviane and Kallias,” says Morrigan, nodding to both Feyre and Rhysand. “And discuss an alliance with them, as well.”

“Good luck convincing Kallias,” Azriel snorts.

“I’ll convince Viviane,” she replies, smiling slightly. “She’ll do the rest.”

The room starts to disperse not too soon after, with everyone going back to their tasks at hand. Elain and Azriel remain, with the spymaster discussing army plans with Cassian, who still holds on to me.

He doesn’t let me go.

And it’s that little squeeze he gives me as he talks to Azriel that says, Stay.

And so I do.

Even when I catch Elain’s eyes move to our entwined hands. Even when I see the smile that spreads on her lips, the joy in her eyes at the gesture. I meet her eyes for a second and see the relief in her features.

“Take the day off, brother,” Cassian tells him. “It’s been a long flight.”

“I still have things to do,” Azriel shakes his head. “Orders to give and-“

“Your spies can wait,” Elain tells him gently, a hand at his chest. “You deserve to rest. Give them time to bring us news from the Spring Court.”

Azriel looks down at her, sighing gently. “You’re a bad influence, Elain Archeron.”

They smile at each other. 

And I know now, by catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind Elain and her Illyrian, that my expression and the look in my eyes is the same as the one she wore when she looked at me, when she looked at mine and Cassian’s hands clasped together.

They leave, hand in hand, talking quietly to themselves.

And I’m left alone with my own Illyrian.

He turns to me, slowly, and holds up the palm of my hand. Kisses it gently. Warmth spreads through my arm, warming a path to my heart.

I say, “You deserve some rest, too. After last night.”

Cassian shakes his head at me. “No.”

I tell him, “Yes.”

He shakes his head again, wrapping his free arm around my waist. My mind is happy, my body is calm, his scent-

This time I really do close my eyes. I lean in, resting my forehead against his chest, my nose just skimming the place where his heart lies. I inhale once and dare to wrap my arms around his frame.

I feel his surprise at first, but Cassian immediately relaxes under my touch. I feel the grumble inside his chest as he laughs quietly. Leaning in, he touches his lips to the top of my head, his hand coming to trace the crown of braids. 

I feel his heartbeat. And all I want to tell him is-

“Why my room?”

My eyes open.

I swallow, but don’t pull away. I whisper, “I needed something familiar. Something to pull me back to the surface.”

He’s silent for a second, and my mind…my mind is telling me all kinds of things. It’s more than that. Tell him it’s more than that, it’s the-

No.

Not yet. Not now.

“My scent,” he guessed.

I nod, fingers tracing the hard muscles of his back. “It worked.”

“It did,” he notes, the back of his hand trailing down my cheek. I turn my face, gently kissing his knuckles.

I feel him melt at that.

“We can share my bed whenever you want,” he whispers, conscious of the other fae with super hearing abilities in the house. “If you ever need a place to rest.”

I open my eyes – stare into his hazel ones. “Just to rest?”

He’s delighted. “No,” he smiles. “Not just to rest.”

I smile with him, at the softened edges of his mouth and at the crinkles in his eyes as he leans down. My hands slide up to his cheeks, my thumb grazing the soft skin as Cassian presses his lips to mine in a kiss that makes me stop feeling the ground underneath my feet.

It’s as soft as a feather. Nothing but a brush of his lips against mine and yet – I feel like it’s so much more. Like that kiss alone conveyed all the words we could never say to each other before.

He pulls away too soon, resting his forehead against mine. My eyes lower to his lips, slightly parted, and all I can think about is tasting him again; letting my tongue drag over his bottom lip before I take it between my teeth-

“I have to go,” he whispers.

I shake my head at him, not being able to find the words.

He furrows his eyebrows, keeping his eyes closed. As if he’s trying to find the strength inside him to pull away from me – and cannot.

He breathes in, “Come with me.”

I start. “To the Illyrian camps?”

“Yes,” Cassian says, pulling away just slightly, just so he can meet my eyes. “Would you like to?”

I don’t take much time to consider before saying, “Yes.”

But I see the conflict in his eyes. I know it’s not a place he wants to take me. I know the brutality, the roughness, the violence that goes on in the Illyrian camps – and Cassian does not wish to involve me in it more than it is needed. Although it seems he can’t part with me as much as I can’t part with him.

“We need armour,” he tells me.

And I know he means both physical – and emotional armour.

I nod, mentally preparing myself to put on the Illyrian leathers once more; to strap back the blades and begin picking up the bricks to build my fortress again.

At last, I pull away from him – yet not completely. I take a breath, squeezing his hand. Then I look up into the hazel eyes that have woken me up from the darkest of nightmares, and say, “Let’s go, then.”

***

I had lost weight.

Months have passed since the war with Hybern and the muscle I put on while training for it has since almost completely disappeared. I noticed as I slipped into the Illyrian leathers – the same ones I’d used in the battlefield. The same ones I’d considered burning afterwards.

I changed with Cassian in the room.

It was a task – looking at the pieces of clothing, now mended and as good as new, and not want to crumble into pieces. And even though I reminded myself, over and over, that it was just clothing, Cassian had to be the one to lace my boots and zip my vest, grab the knives and strap them to my body, while his siphons already gleamed red on the outside of his wrists. I’d become almost paralysed as I stared at myself in the mirror, not really recognizing this female. 

The one who had knelt at his side, willing to die with him.

I would’ve done it then – and I would do it now. I will do it, if needed.

We both seemed to remember it as Cassian stared at me through that mirror. He sensed my apprehension, of course he did, for he smiled and nipped at the pointy tip of my ear, whispering I would much rather be taking these off you than putting them on, and Too many clothes, sweetheart, I’ll sure enjoy peeling them off you later, to distract me.

And distract me, he did.

Somehow I’d ended up against the wall with my legs around his waist, his mouth claiming my neck, teeth barely grazing the skin but putting enough pressure to make my head roll back, wanting nothing more than to have him sink his teeth into me.

And other parts of him to sink into me.

Somehow he’d regained enough of his self-control to pull away before things got carried away – and we were once more reminded of the mission in our hands, of the role we had to play. So he’d left for the bathroom to splash some water on his face, and I’d been left with my own thin, hollow reflection in the mirror.

I’d lost any curves I previously had. My jawline was too sharp, the cheekbones too prominent. Even my breasts weren’t the same anymore.

But all of that doesn’t seem to matter anymore as I walk the camps with Cassian by my side.

We are not touching.

His stride is as powerful as it is authoritative, every inch of him threatening, intimidating. We pass a line of Illyrian soldiers, a line which repeats itself fifty times – and he tells me this is just one sector.

The numbers hadn’t seemed this big in the last war.

He stops in front. I stop beside him.

No one, not a single pair of eyes, is drawn to me. No matter who they were, the message was clear – they answer to Cassian. And taking into account how close we stood to one another, it seems no one is willing to cross that line – not even the ones who recognize me. I am untouchable.

I look up at him – watch him survey his soldiers. There’s a look to him I can’t quite place, a look I’m not familiar with. His jaw is set tight, his lip curled in almost a sneer, eyes narrowed and focused, eyeing every male and female present. Analysing. Calculating.

This is not the Cassian that held me and kissed me minutes ago.

This is the Commander of the Night Court – Lord of Bloodshed. Here, Cassian bows for no one. Here, they bow for him.

A shiver runs down my spine as he speaks, his voice booming through the open field, echoing. “I want to make sure you’re ready if the war drums sounds. Are you?”

Shouts and grunts sound evenly amongst them. Nods of agreement, cheers and fists pumping the air is what I see as I scan the crowd present. For them, battling, fighting, killing - that is their life. That is what they know.

It’s what Cassian knows.

I often forget this part of him. And it’s a mistake to do so, to pretend that he doesn’t have five hundred years’ worth of blood on his hands and countless wars weighing down on his shoulders; to think that Cassian is made up of just teasing grins and winking eyes and provoking jokes. The person standing next to me right now, barking orders and shouting threats – this is as much part of him as the rest. The fighting. The brutality. The bloodshed. It all eclipses with the side that comforts me at night, the side that lets him be tender and soft despite the bruised knuckles and scarred chest, the side that leaves featherlike kisses on the side of my face and gentle bites on the inside of my thighs. 

All of it – it’s all him.

“Go on,” he tells them.

All at once, the males and females disperse, choosing a partner to strike swords with. It’s a mess of glinting swords and dark hair waving with the winter wind, grunts and shouts and yelps of pain. They practise on each other, some taking the skies for their own, fighting mid-air.

I can’t stop the images from replaying in my head. I watch a young Illyrian fly up with his sword held high, and can’t help but imagine an arrow going through his wing, making him fall to the ground, the drop too big for him to survive-

“It’s okay,” he whispers. Cassian takes my hand in his – and I forget. I forget everything and where I am and where I’ve been as his thumb caresses my hand. “It’s okay, sweetheart.” 

He’s not looking at me. But he knows. He knows.

“I want you to train me,” I say to him, my eyes drifting from soldier to soldier. “I want to fight like that.”

“It would take years.”

“Teach me the basics. Whatever you can,” I look at him. “Make me strong.”

Cassian meets my gaze. Something flickers in his dark hazel eyes as he says, “Strong? You’re already the strongest person in here, Nesta.”

“I don’t know how to control my powers.”

“And I’m not talking about your powers,” he says. 

My mouth closes.

Cassian shakes his head slightly, turning his face away. “This,” he says, eyeing the soldiers. “This type of strength means nothing if your mind is weak.” 

I follow his gaze, taking in his words.

“Your mind is a force bigger than anything else,” he tells me. “I will train you, if you wish. But the strength of your mind – that cannot be taught. And I cannot compare anything to it.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel very strong.”

Cassian smiles gently. He looks to me again. “It is.”

“What makes you so sure?”

His smile turns sad, pensive. “No one, Nesta, would’ve survived what you did without a mind of steel.”

I stare at him for what it feels like an eternity. There are no words for him, for what I feel. When I manage to find the words, I whisper, “That makes two of us, then.”

As he smiles at me, I think his eyes are the sun in a pale winter afternoon and mine are the storm clouds reflected in them. 

He takes my hand and kisses each knuckle, eyes never leaving mine.

I want to trace his jaw with my lips, his cheekbones with my fingers.

“Come with me,” he says. 

He leads me to the front line of the fighting, never letting me step too close to the range of the swords. He watches every movement with expert attention, pointing out different techniques to me as we go, taking the time to explain the logic behind each one strike, each one pose, each one move.

I feel eyes on me.

As he speaks, I turn to look over my shoulder at a female standing seven feet from me. Her eyes are glued to me and then – then they stop on Cassian.

She does not turn away, waiting as her partner laces up her boot. Not even when I glue my eyes to her.

“Nesta?”

I turn to him again, feeling my cheeks heating, my blood boiling.

“Hum?”

“You’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” I tell him, walking along and expecting him to follow him. Expecting to pull him away from there. “What were you saying about balancing the weight on my feet?”

He follows me, eyes glued to the soldiers in front of him as he continues explaining. I’m not hearing a single word. Because I feel her eyes on him. I feel it.

I don’t like it.

Leave it. Ignore it.

But my heart is racing and my blood is boiling. My fingers are twitching, begging to wrap around that throat, pull that dark braid to the floor and drag her with it.

Don’t turn around, don’t turn-

I look over my shoulder.

She ignores me now, as if she does not see me, or see the hand now wrapping around the hilt of the blade at my hip. Her eyes trail along his body, the hard muscles of his back and the long, strong legs, tracing the folded wings behind him.

Mine.

He’s mine.

I feel my jaw clench as my hands shake. I feel the quiet, unceasing drum in my veins, lacing with the darkness welling up inside me, and it’s building, it’s building higher and higher, until it’s up to my throat and I cannot contain it.

I will incinerate this gods-damned camp.

I snap.

My hands are covered in a black so deep it looks like spilled ink – yet I don’t wonder about it. I see red and feel a strange sort of adrenaline coursing through my blood that urges me to take the kill.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

I turn, facing her, and take my steps – slow, brutal.

The Illyrian turns her eyes to me. And there must be something both inhuman and not at all fae on my face, for she actually stumbles back from me, wide eyes and mouth parted. I don’t care. I don’t care-

Mine. Mine. Mine.

He’s mine.

A growl builds up in my throat as my hands flex-

A blanket of darkness falls in front of my vision. It stops me, hard as a stone, and pushes me back.

I snarl, clawing at the arm that also wraps around the front of my waist. 

“Nes, Nes, Nesta, sweetheart,” I barely hear him over the screams of the fighting soldiers, too distracted to see what is going on.

I sink my nails into his arm, but he has a death grip on me, and is wing is still in front of my eyes, too large for me to peak around it. Cassian pulls me to his chest, arms tightening around me. I realize my feet have left the floor.

I actually growl at him.

I’m too angry, too hot, I need-

“Calm down, calm down,” he tells me. “Cool it.”

I want to scream at him that I’m not some kind of wild forest animal he has to calm down, but- 

That is most likely me right now.

Some of my vision clears, but the pressure I feel in my hands – it has to come out. I need- 

“Let me go,” I growl at him. “Get off me.”

“So you can get yourself killed?” He shoots back. “Not on my watch.”

I don’t know where he’s taking me.

I manage to turn in his arms, but Cassian only grips me tighter as I dig my fingers on his shoulder, attempting to look behind him-

I groan against him as my body grows tired from fighting. He’s too strong. Bastard. 

I realize I’m panting like a beast as he pulls me behind a group of tents.

“Cassian-“ I growl at him.

He says nothing as he places me down on the ground, somewhere far away from the rest of them, somewhere that blocks my vision of where they all stand.

I bare my teeth at him. “What gives you the right-?”

He says nothing as he pushes me against a tree and kisses me.

I gasp as his body presses into mine, and Cassian takes the opportunity to kiss me deeper. His tongue tastes my mouth, and as it drags along my bottom lip I feel a tingling run down my spine, a twisting feeling inside my stomach that has me arching my back for him.

His lips move down my throat and his hands take mine, placing them on his shoulders. For a second, I open my eyes as his lips trail down my neck, and I look down

to see his fingers slide down my hand, and I see that darkness fade away with his touch, leaving only pale skin behind. I’m too lost in him to process it, to even remember how, why, when or what.

He picks me up.

Cassian has my legs around his waist and every inch of him is pressed against me. My arms wrap around his neck as I claim his lips once, and twice and a third time. I can’t get his taste out of my head. I can’t stop thinking about the way he’s kissing my jaw, while his hands roam my waist. These kisses are nothing like the ones he gave me this morning. There isn’t anything tender or sweet or soft about this.

I want him to just take me here. I need him right now.

My hands slide down his shoulders, marvelling at the hard muscles beneath the leathers. They slide further down, down, down over the planes of his chest until they reach the waistline of his trousers. My hand grasps him over the thick material, and my eyes widen slightly at how hard – and how big – he seems. Cassian stops kissing me as a moan falls from his mouth, his breath hot against my ear.

The sight of him almost crumbling in front of me, simply from touching him like this, makes me do it again, just to listen to him moan my name as his teeth take my earlobe, ever so gently. I feel my own wetness as Cassian moves his hips against mine.

A gasp leaves my mouth at the delicious pressure he pushes against me. And I want to feel it again, and again, and again. But I want him bare.

My hand moves to the buttons of his trousers, frantically trying, and consequently failing, to open them. I groan, frustrated, and Cassian lets out a raspy laugh against my neck.

That laugh makes me open my eyes, and as I take in my surroundings, I finally remember where I am.

“What are you doing?” He asks, his tone laced with wickedness as he licks a stripe up my neck.

I shiver against him as my clumsy fingers attempt to open his trousers once more.

And I’m panting so hard, my lungs close to collapsing as I attempt to find the words to beg him-

“No,” he says softly, pulling my hand away.

I swallow as I watch him kiss my fingers, his other arm holding me between him and the tree.

“Not here,” Cassian says, a grin spreading on his features. “Not now.”

“Why not?” I ask him, licking my lips. As much as I can, because he’s pinning me with his hips, I move my own against him, feeling every bit of him slide against me. Cassian lets out a deep growl, leaning in and letting his teeth clamp down on my shoulder – hard enough that I do it again.

“Nesta,” he lets out.

“Why not?” I ask again.

And the voice that comes out of me – I’m not entirely sure if that woman is me. It’s too sultry, too desperate.

“I want you so fucking much,” he whispers, “You…you have no idea.”

I look down at the bulge pressed between my legs, thinking that I have a bit of an idea.

“I can’t have you against a tree in the middle of nowhere, Nesta.”

“What’s stopping you?” I trace his jaw with my finger. “Certainly not me.”

He closes his eyes, letting out an exasperated breath. He actually laughs. “You’ll be the death of me.”

My heart falls, disappointed, as he gentles me down to the ground. His hands remain on my hips, as if he can’t afford to let me go completely.

This – this…craze, this need for him will not stop, I realize. Not after I’ve had him for a million times, not after three or four of five or a billion lifetimes with him. Wanting him this much…I don’t think I can take it.

He opens his eyes and the look he gives me only makes me want to kneel before him. But Cassian kisses me gently, tenderly. A kiss that makes my heart calmer, easing that ache in the pit of my stomach.

When he pulls away, he murmurs to me, his lips a breath away from mine, “The first time I have you, Nesta, I want to take my time. I want you on a bed. I want my mouth on you again. I miss the taste of you already, it’s been engraved on my mind ever since this morning. I want to learn all the right ways to touch you and I want to do it slow. I want to memorize every inch of you with my lips, far away from anyone who might hear you moan my name. I want you to myself for days on end, when I can please you in ways I have only dreamed of.” His hand trails down the side of my body, coming to rest on the back of my thigh. I’m breathless against him, but he asks, lower than a whisper, “Do you how what happens in those dreams? The first time I take you?”

I shake my head, my throat closing up.

“I strip you naked,” he says, leaving one kiss on the corner of my mouth, “then I trail my lips everywhere. From those beautiful legs to your breasts.” To emphasize his point, Cassian leans down, leaving one kiss over each clothed breast, and my eyes flutter closed, my hand coming to rest on the top of his head. He looks up, “Then I make you moan with my mouth. Torture you until you come, until your fingers are pulling at my hair,” I bite my lip, pulling at the roots of his hair ever so gently, making a dark chuckle come out of his mouth. “Then I use my fingers. These two,” he shows me. “Until you tip over the edge again. And only when you’re begging me-“

“Stop,” I beg, placing a hand over his mouth.

Cassian pulls it away, grinning, and leans into my ear. “And only when you’re begging for me to be inside you, limp with pleasure, will I spread your legs for me and take you. I want it to last for hours. And when I’m finish with you, do you know what I’ll do, sweetheart?” His lips kiss the tip of my ear and I feel like I’m already tipping over the edge, just from hearing him. “Do you?”

I shake my head, legs trembling.

Cassian whispers, “I’ll do it over again.”

He places one last kiss on my lips before pulling away from me.

I can barely stand. I can barely think.

Cassian grins down at me, “Feel better?”

And then I remember.

I feel my face redden. Dear gods-

If it had been him in my place, if he’d acted the way I acted…I would’ve screamed at him. I would have downright screamed at him that I was not some object he possessed and that he had no right to-

Gods. Gods.

He is amused.

“Stop smiling,” I demand.

He grins wider. “You were jealous.”

I glare at him. “Someone has a big ego,” I spit.

And Cassian only takes me in his arms and pushes me against him. “It really does suit you.”

“What?” I furrow my eyebrows up at him.

The bastard leans down, kissing the tip of my nose. And I want to push him away and kiss the hell out of him at the same time for that gesture alone. “Being territorial”

“I’m not-“

“Ah ah,” he shakes his finger in front of my nose. “Don’t lie.”

Bastard.

And because I can’t find the words to defend myself, I look away, crossing my arms and attempting not to let the feel of his arms around me affect me.

I fail.

I fail so hard.

“Do I need to tell you how I would not even blink someone else’s way? How I will always prefer you? How I can’t seem to want anything else in this life but you?”

He nips at my jaw. So gently.

“No.”

Cassian smirks, pulling away from me slowly. He entwines our fingers. “Good. If I take you back, will you promise not to wreak havoc in my army?”

I hesitate.

“Nesta.”

“Yes,” I say begrudgingly, waving a hand around. “Yes, fine.”

When he smiles at me, even as we walk back to the camp, hands entwined and our scents mingled together, I feel nothing but that shining, blinding happiness that has finally begun to punch through the darkened roofs.

***

At the end of the day, having watched every single one of those Illyrians fight each other, and having at one point practised myself with a proud Cassian by my side, I ready myself to go back home.

But Cassian takes my hand again and says, “I want to show you something.”

We walk up a mountain side, and, though tired and aching, I welcome the cold breeze against my skin and the warmth at my side, smiling down at me every so often. I welcome the moment of peace, the private time I have with him, with open arms and a grateful smile.

“What is it?” I ask for the hundredth time, burying my face in the fur collar of my vest, shielding myself from the cold.

Cassian barely flinches as the cruel wind passes us. A Prince of Flames – born from fire, unafraid of cold.

“You’ll see,” he answers for the hundredth time.

When we reach the top of the mountain, Cassian is practically dragging me up the last steps. I ask him why he didn’t fly us up and he says, “Part of the experience is to walk up.”

And almost die on the way, apparently.

He climbs the last steps and stands at the very top. He looks down at me, smiling as bright as the sunset in front of him, and holds out a hand to help me out.

Cassian pulls me against him as I reach him. “Look,” he says.

And I do.

I’m breathless – not just from having walked all the way up here.

The most beautiful of views I have ever seen. Mountains upon mountains stand tall and proud, as gentle snowflakes fall around us. The sun is still bright, but it’s saying goodbye to the earth with each passing second, welcoming the stars, some which are already visible behind us.

We’re silent for a long, long time.

And then Cassian says, “When I was younger I would always come here after a fight.” He doesn’t look at me after he says it. “After a battle, after something terrible happened – which always did. And it eased my mind, somehow. I remember looking at that sunset, and thinking that that,” he points with his finger, not at the blinding, disappearing sun, but the shade of baby blue blending into it. The softest blue in the world. “I always thought that was the most beautiful colour. I could never describe it. It’s not just blue, it’s…”

His words trail off. My heart is in my throat at this little piece of his life that he’s willing to share with me, and the pained memories that come with it.

He smiles to himself after a second. “I remember thinking that I would never fit anywhere. Not here, not Velaris, not with Rhys. But everytime I sat down on this very mountain top and watched that light blue emerge in the skies…” he looks down at me, then. He smiles, so beautiful, hazel eyes gleaming in the sunlight, strands of curly dark hair blowing with the breeze. “I felt like I was home.”

I can only whisper, “You did?”

Cassian nods, pulling a wild strand of hair away from my face. He cups my cheek, thumb tracing the skin around my eyes. “It’s this same blue.” 

My heart is leaping out of my chest.

The smile he wears is as tender and soft as the white clouds above. He says two words, and I’m gone. “I’m home.”

The Night Court isn’t my home.

As he smiles at me, I think his eyes are the sun in a pale winter afternoon and mine are the light blue skies reflected in them. 

Not storm clouds.

But light blue – like the skies above.

I take his face between my hands, so gently. I don’t feel the cold anymore.

Cassian searches my face, my eyes. And it’s so quiet, just us and the sun and wind.

“I promised you,” he whispers. “I promised you we would have time. And I will give it to you. We will have time, Nesta.”

The Night Court isn’t my home.

No, indeed.

Cassian – he is my home.

I think back to a poem I read once, where the brave, ruthless lion from the pale green pastures fell in love with the lonely grey wolf from the white mountains. I remember finding it silly. Unrealistic.

How things change.

I lift myself on my tiptoes and touch my lips to his. I will let him realize what I am to him in due time. What he is to me. It doesn’t matter how long it takes us – because we will get there. Somehow, someway. We will have that time.

I pull away just a fraction of an inch to tell him, “I’m home, Cassian.”

He holds me as if he has finally found a place where he belongs. And I hold him just the same. And when the stars come out and the snow falls harder, Cassian takes me in his arms and, with a single peck on my lips and a smile, he shoots us up into the skies and flies us to our Court.

***

The House of Wind is silent when we arrive.

Something is wrong, I think, as Cassian places me down on the main balcony. Something is wrong, something is wrong-

He growls beside me at the scent we detect. I wrap my hand around his arm, willing him to stay calm as we walk inside the office-

To find our Court safe. All of them safe.

I start to breathe a sigh of relief when-

Eris comes into view from around the table, sipping a half-filled drink. I feel every inch of my body tensing, I feel Cassian beside me tremble with restraint as we look around at the solemn faces in the room.

I turn to the male walking towards me.

He wears a fox’s grin, sharp teeth gleaming in the candle light. His voice is as soft as velvet when he drawls, “Hello, Nesta.”


	7. Chapter 7

Nesta

The air is scented with smoke, like burning wood.

The source of that scent whirls towards me, inclining his head to the side with a smile full of unending secrets and cunning plans.

“Hello, Nesta.”

“Don’t fucking talk to her-“

I hold out a hand in front of Cassian, stopping him from reaching for the sword on his back. I feel everyone in this room stare at me with zero explanations given as to why he’s here now, looking at me the same way he did on that first night in Tarquin’s office.

I wait for him to speak, to explain.

But then Eris is turning is head to Cassian – to my hand on his chest, to the way that the Commander yields to me so easily.

He smirks, “You finally managed to train your dog, I see-“

He has barely finished the sentence and I have a hand around his throat that pins him to the wall behind. Eris’ eyes snap to me, surprise flicking in the depths of amber, as he takes me in. But he does nothing. No part of him aimed to harm me back, to push me off.

“We told you to play nice,” Feyre warns from behind me.

“This is me being nice,” Eris says between clenched teeth, glaring at my sister over my shoulder.

“What is this?” I snarl in his face. “What are you doing here?”

Eris’ eyes move to my face and I- 

I see something soften in them as he stares. Cassian contains a growl from behind me, but I ignore it, because something changes in Eris’ face and I can’t place it-

“I killed my father.”

I let go of his throat, and Eris barely moves. He stares me down.

“He found out I struck a bargain with your court,” he says evenly. “Planted information in my head for no other reason than to confuse you, knowing I’d report back to your High Lord.” There’s a deep growl from beside us, and Rhysand actually takes a step forward, threatening. Eris adds, “and High Lady.”

I look towards my sister, as if wanting confirmation for these words. Slowly, she nods.

“Beron was collecting and harbouring faebane – lots of it. There was never meant to be a war, his armies were never ready to invade. They were positioned on our borders to protect the faebane-“

“How did he get it?” I ask. “Where did he get it?”

“I don’t know.”

Cassia scoffs loudly, turning his back to us and walking to the window in exasperation. Beside him, Azriel is eyeing us with careful attention, while my sisters stand side by side, probably wondering if they’ll have to step between me and the lord of Autumn.

Eris barely glances at Cassian this time – good. He continues, “He was preparing. He had been bidding his time since the war with Hybern because he wanted revenge.”

“Because we forced him into the war,” Feyre adds, crossing her arms. “And so did Tamlin.”

“Tamlin didn’t ally himself with your court,” I note.

Eris shakes his head, “Tamlin still has no idea of what happened. My father mixed truth with lies and let me tell you of his fake plans – of his alliance with Spring – in hopes Rhysand would waste no time in erasing Tamlin’s territory off the map.” A pause. He looks around at all of us, yet he avoids both Morrigan and Amren, sitting side by side behind me. He looks at me then. “In your weakness, after battling with Tamlin, my father and his supply of faebane would strike.”

“And how do you know all of this?”

He’s telling this story for the second time, I realize. None of the others seem interested in his words, not even Rhysand, as he leans against his desk, eyeing the floor with furrowed brows.

“A knife around my father’s throat seemed to do the trick just right,” Eris mumbles. “I found the supply only hours before I crossed the border for the Summer Court. That’s when I got a messenger to deliver you my warning about Tamlin’s supposed alliance.”

“Tarquin confirmed this,” Azriel said, stepping out of the shadows and looking between me and Cassian. “Eris was there at the time he said he was.”

“And wouldn’t your spies have detected something was off with Autumn?” I turn to Azriel. “Wouldn’t they have seen Beron carrying all that faebane?”

“My father was no fool,” Eris cuts in before the spymaster has a chance. “An idiot, yes, but an idiot who took no chances with being discovered.” I turn to him. “He did it little by little, sending his scouts – as well as my brothers, who all were aware of all these plans – to get the faebane from whatever they got it from, to the place where they hid it: along the Autumn border, buried right next to the river that flows into the Summer sea. An attempt to mask the scent of it. But I made a camp site on the spot that night so I’d have the energy to walk back in the morning and I-“

“Why didn’t you winnow?”

My interruption makes him look at me again. Not a heartbeat later, he says, “My brothers would scent that magic. I was hiding my own scent as I was going along – I didn’t need another reason for them to suspect me.”

Fine.

Still-

I stare him down, not daring to look away.

From beside Feyre, Elain asks, “Didn’t they notice your absence? Didn’t they find it strange?”

There’s a bitter half-smile on Eris’ face as he turns his head to look at my sister, “No.”

He hates them all. That much is clear. And yet, there is still a well-noticed sadness laced with that bitterness as Eris turns to me again. I see in his eyes. He wanted a family that supported him, loved him, sided with him. Instead, he got a set of brothers and a father willing to kill him and all for the sake of a crown. A throne. Power. And they could not care less whether or not he disappeared.

We all pause. And then Eris speaks up again, as if he’s only speaking to me now. “I found the faebane and dug it all up. It was enough to bring down all of your court and a few hundreds of your people.”

“Are you now using that against us?” I cock my head to the side, eyeing him with a predator’s glance. “Cheap of you, Eris.”

He stops suddenly with a start. And for a moment I think it’s because of the sting in my voice, for the sheer accusation I aim his way, but-

But his eyes flash at the mention of his name.

His name on my lips.

Eris blinks, as if, for the first time, he’s truly shaken. As if I unbalanced him by banging a steel fist on the glass throne he sits himself in. I realize he’s not breathing.

Cassian stands by my side – as if he, too, notices it.

At his presence, Eris seems to snap back to reality, just one second after my words hit him. And then he’s composed, perfectly arrogant as he says, “I burned the whole perimeter down and made sure the faebane burned with it.”

“You burned the border of your own territory?” Cassian sneers.

Eris ignores him and keeps his eyes on me, much to Cassian’s displeasure – and fury. I think back to yesterday, when I screamed his name over and over, attempting to wake him up from whatever monsters were chasing after him in his dreams.

Turned out his monsters had been me and Eris. Together.

For a fraction of a second, I wonder if he’s recalling the images he saw of me and the lord of autumn, the same images that had made him whisper my name in a broken, desperate manner, and had made sweat gather at his forehead, his hands shaking. I wonder. And then I feel the need to touch him – hold his hand, entwine my fingers with his to assure him, let him know that I don’t care. I don’t care about how Eris looks at me. I want to make sure he knows-

But I do not.

“They could’ve hidden some more anywhere else,” Eris says. “I was making sure every last bit was destroyed.”

“It also means that they could’ve spread it across your territory,” Morrigan cuts in from behind us. We all turn to look at her – even Eris. “And right now they might have it ready.”

“Doubtful,” Eris simply says.

“It’s possible,” Rhysand adds, crossing his arms.

“I destroyed what I could,” Eris says to him. “When I went back to the Manor, I didn’t scent any. But Autumn is a large court. As thin as that possibility may be – it is still plausible.”

“What happened when you went back.” I demand.

“My brothers weren’t in,” he says. “I made my father confess and then I cut his throat. I dragged his body to the front of the manor where the woods start.” He swallows then, as if he’s forcing the words out. “I left them all a message.” And then, to all our astonishment, he looks to Morrigan. For a second, he just stares at her. And then he says, “I nailed it to his body.”

She turns her face away.

Clearly, he had left this part out. I saw a familiar feeling passing through his eyes as he looked away, too – that feeling of weak nakedness that comes after a difficult confession. I know it all too well.

“What did it say?” Elain asks quietly.

He looks at none of us in particular as he mutters, “That I’ll be coming for my throne.”

“And yet you ran away from it,” Cassian taunts.

From behind him, Azriel allows a little grin that almost goes unnoticed. Eris looks unbothered as he retorts, “At least I do have a throne. What do you have, Commander?”

And Cassian steps in before I have a chance to, “Strength, family, love,” he grins. “And extreme good looks. You’re lacking in all of those.”

There’s dead silence around the room.

Eris raises one delicate eyebrow and allows a smile. “You’re lucky your female is willing to kill anyone who attempts to harm her owner – or you’d find yourself without teeth, Illyrian.”

“Maybe I’ll pull yours out one by one, lordling.”

Everyone turns to me. At the sheer darkness of those words.

And I feel it burn inside me again – that power. That untamed, unreleased beast inside me that roars to be set free and unleashed upon the world. I feel it, and I show it.

I feel it slide up my arms, that darkness. It weaves itself in my veins, swims around in my blood, coating the tips of my fingers in black.

One second it’s free – and one second later it’s back inside me, encaged, calmed. I flex my hand and the blackness fades. The beast is controlled. For now.

I stare at him. “You’ll take care to mind your damn words from now on,” I murmur to him. “And while you’re at it remind yourself that I have no owner. You’ll do good to remember it. Or you might find yourself without a cock to fuck with.”

One

Two

Three seconds pass and everyone’s chins are on the floor as they stare at me. I ignore them all. But for a moment the only thing on my mind is a question – what are my sisters’ thoughts on this part of me that I showed? This darkness and unrelenting, unending power? I wonder what they make of it.

I don’t wonder for long.

Eris gives me a long, lazy smile. Dips his chin as if he’s going to bow. I only raise my own at him.

And then I hear Cassian murmur, “Lucky, indeed.”

“I have one more question for you,” Rhysand suddenly mutters from his desk.

We all turn to him. Eris does the same.

“That night in Tarquin’s office,” Rhysand says, “your mind resisted mine. With expertise. And it is still resisting now. So my question is this: how did you learn that close your mind off like that and what do you not want me to see?”

“Am I not allowed to have my private thoughts, Rhysand?” Eris says. “You have your secrets – I have mine. I you all you need to know.”

“You told us all you need us to know,” Azriel corrects.

“My word is true,” Eris defends himself.

“For how long?” Amren chides in, crossing her legs.

Eris frowns at her. Says nothing.

“Answer the question, Eris,” Feyre says, her voice laced with menace.

He looks straight at my sister. “I am allowed to keep my mind to myself. We all have our secrets, Feyre. For example – you did not tell me your sister Elain was a seer.”

A shocked silence fills the room, so thick it’s palpable.

My mind turns into a chaotic mess. Instinctively, I reach for my sister and pull her behind me. Her spymaster has truthteller in one hand, eyeing Eris with terrifying suspicion. No one – no one – would want to be on the other side of that gaze.

Eris continues, ignoring the blade pointed his way. “I know this because my grandmother – from my mother’s side – she was also a seer. A talented one, too. Unfortunately, her powers got her killed faster than any blade, but I did know her. I recognize the ways of the seers.” He pauses then, giving me and Elain a brief look before turning to Feyre again. “I don’t wish to cause any harm to your sisters, Feyre. Or to you. Or to your court. I want to survive. And the only way I’ll survive is by sitting on a throne and killing the ones who are trying to kill me. There are no tricks up my sleeve.”

“Prove it,” Rhysand almost snarls.

Eris gives him a hard look. And then his eyes are stuck to Rhysand, unmoving, unblinking. I realize Eris is showing him his mind, giving free access for Rhysand to search whatever he wants. Poke wherever he wants.

Rhysand’s face changes abruptly.

His eyes widen, his eyebrows furrow. And then Rhysand actually stumbles back into his desk.

“Rhys,” Feyre whispers, holding on to him. My sister looks between him and Eris, her eyes concerned. “What is he showing you?”

Rhysand does not answer. He opens his eyes and then – then he looks to Eris. Confused and-

Frightened.

There is a heavy pause between them, but then the High Lord says, “How-Why?”

Eris’ face is cold. “You cannot ask me any further. You saw it – my truth. I will not repeat it,” he turns to me then. Just briefly, and then he starts to walk away. But not before he says to Rhysand, “Me and you might be a lot similar than you think, after all.”

Eris walks up the stairs without another word. But I swear – I could swear I saw something in the lordling’s face as he turned away. And as much as I tried to gulp it down and ignore it-

I know shame when I see it.

And I’m about to ask, when-

I see Rhysand looking down at his mate, his eyes and mind showing her everything he saw in Eris’ mind, everything that had made Rhysand’s entire face change. And then Feyre widens her eyes, her mouth parting in what looked like surprise and fury mixed together. She looks to where Eris disappeared.

“What is it?” Cassian asks.

No one answers him.

“Feyre,” Cassian pleads. “What the hell-?”

Feyre looks up to Rhysand, a question in her eyes. And Rhysand shakes his head.

“You know that telepathy type of horseshit you guys have is sort of a crappy situation for us right now,” Cassian frowns, crossing his arms. “We’d appreciate some answers.”

“We can trust him,” is all Rhysand says. “For now, we can trust him.”

“Rhys-“ Mor starts.

“If you don’t trust him,” he says to his cousin. “Then trust me, Mor. Trust that me and Feyre are making the right decision. This doesn’t make him part of our family – as long as your safety is concerned, Eris is walking on thin ice.”

“Do you believe he did that to his father?” Mor asks in a smaller voice. “The same thing my parents did to me?”

Feyre turns to her – there’s compassion in my sister’s eyes as she nods. “Yes, Mor.”

“I don’t forgive him.”

“None of us do,” Rhysand says. “There’s a lot I will never forgive from Eris. But let us be free of this once and for all. He steps a foot out of line – we kill him. And, if it comes to that, you’ll still have the right to make him bleed, Mor.”

None of us knew if Eris was still within earshot – I guess Rhysand doesn’t care.

“What about his mother?” Amren asks. “The Lady of Autumn just watched while her son nailed her husband?”

“He didn’t say where the hell she is-“ Mor stands.

“He showed me where she was,” Rhysand assures her. “Eris’ mother is with her sister on the other side of the Autumn Court. Eris wanted to hide her in the mortal world, but she wouldn’t leave. She made him promise that he wouldn’t harm his brothers – and this included Lucien. Eris didn’t make such a promise. So she turned her back on him.”

Just like Eris said she would.

I look towards the stairs and wonder how I ever managed to feel alone with so many people around me, trying to help me. As I play back Eris’ words and the bitter sadness that coated his face as he mentioned his family, I realize that I have never truly known loneliness. Not to that extent.

Eris – he has no one now.

And as much as I despise his guts and the words that came out of his mouth, there’s still a part deep within me that feels for him. Pities him.

I shove that part of me out of my system for as long as I can.

“She’s just going to let her sons kill each other?” Elain mutters to no one in particular.

“She has no other choice,” Azriel answers. “No power to stop them, either.”

“I can’t imagine…” Elain shakes her head. She looks towards Rhysand, then. “Do you think they’ll come after Lucien?”

“They will not cross Tamlin’s border,” Rhysand tells her. “They will not dare. Lucien is safe as long as he’s in Spring.”

He’d also be safe – maybe safer – if he was here. I wonder if that’s what’s going through Elain’s mind right now as she silently sits down next to Amren. I wonder if that part of her – the part that calls out to him, to the mating bond they share…I wonder whether it makes her want him here. Whether it makes her want to keep him safe.

Azriel seems to sink into the shadows.

“What now?” Cassian asks.

“Now,” Feyre says. “Now we plan to fight his brothers and hope we are able to crown a High Lord and be done with these wars for the next fifty centuries.”

Amren shrugs from beside Elain. “War keeps immortality interesting.”

No one laughs.

“What a miserable bunch you all are,” she says.

“I’m going to bed,” Morrigan says, almost to herself, as she leaves. We all watch her.

Rhysand hangs his head, “Az.”

“Rhys?”

“Will you and Cassian check the soldiers below? Check if the border is still safe and controlled. Change rounds if you need to. Put more soldiers in place if you need to. Just in case.” He says. “I will stay here and make sure things are calm.”

Just in case.

We’ve been hearing those words a lot lately.

“The whole of Prythian must know by now that a High Lord has died, right?” I ask.

Rhysand turns to me, “Most likely.”

Which means Lucien has heard.

I look to Elain, but she’s staring at the ground, unmoving.

“Will they do something about it?” I ask then.

“Probably not,” my sister says. Feyre sighs. “They will not get into a conflict right now.”

“If it’s not within their borders,” Azriel says. “They will not get involved and they will not care.”

“I take it you didn’t manage to convince Winter to join us in case a war started?”

Both Rhysand and Feyre eye me – and then the hallway, where Morrigan left. Their silence is answer enough.

“I think I might go to bed, too,” Elain says quietly, standing. She bids us goodnight and places a gentle kiss on her spymaster’s cheek without saying anything else. He watches her all the way to the empty hallway until she disappears. I can’t see his face amongst all the shadows and darkness.

Feyre and Rhys follow suit. With one final look at Cassian, I turn away as well.

His knuckles graze mine as I walk away. I won’t take long, that gesture seems to say – a silent promise.

I take that promise all the way up to my room, the sound of flapping wings following me there.

***

I can’t stand the emptiness of my bedroom.

I can’t.

Even as I sit up in bed, even as my eyes turn to the bookshelf on which Cassian had pinned me. A soft blush covers my cheek at the memory, as stupid as it is-

Every thought goes back to him.

I sigh to myself, grabbing my robe from the end of the bed and putting it on. I know he hasn’t come home yet, but I’m restless. And maybe slipping into his bedroom – and into his bed – while he’s not here might come across to desperate, but then again, I’m too impatient to let myself care. Too tired, also.

I realize that no matter how well I slept last night, what happened in the Summer Court and today’s activities in the Illyrian camps has taken its toll on my mind and body. I feel sore in every aspect of my life. I feel like I could just sink into his bed, take in his scent, and sleep for however long my immortal life lasts.

One step out the door and the scent hits me again – wood and fire and forest.

I think of Elain, alone in her room, and my heart almost beats out of his chest as my legs move on their own, my nose in the air, following that scent-

That leads downstairs to the main room in the House of Wind.

I walk through the open double doors faster than I deemed capable, and stop abruptly.

Eris doesn’t turn his head to me as he sits in one of the couches, a fire burning gingerly in the fireplace. He’s in a more casual attire, supposedly for sleep, but most of his body is covered by the couch. He also doesn’t turn his head to say, “My life is on a very thin line, Nesta Archeron. Have you come to cut the string?”

I pause.

I gather enough from his tone. He’s dropped every bit of arrogance that paved every bit of his personality. And from his words…

I know he would not mind if that’s what I was truly here for. It’s like he’s almost begging me to.

“Let me guess,” he continues when he hears nothing but silence from me. “You caught my scent and wondered whether or not I had killed your sisters in their sleep.”

I say nothing.

“Don’t you worry, lady,” he murmurs. “This house is crawling with sentries. I am completely unarmed, except for my powers, of course. The only thing they can’t take from me.”

They.

And I know Eris is talking about Rhysand or Feyre or the sentries.

I should leave, I think.

I should walk away, I tell myself.

But I have questions – and it’s not in my nature to ignore the things that bother me, so I stay. I walk up to him and sit on the couch opposite to the one he’s sitting on. Eris does not look up when do.

He’s touching a bandage on his arm, adjusting its tightness on his skin. There are multiple purpling bruises on his wrists and some on his neck – fingerprints, I notice. Ones I didn’t see when he’d been fully clothed, an hour ago. I think that maybe Beron put up a bigger fight than Eris led on.

Of course – there are some bruises you show, and others you don’t. Except Eris does not try to hide this from me. In fact, he acts as if I’m not sitting in front of him, breathing the same air. A predator ignoring another.

“Ask what you wish to ask me,” he says quietly.

Strands of flaming red fall on his forehead as he works, his lips set in a tight line. There’s nothing cruel on his face now, no remains of the male that looked down on Cassian before. That curtain’s closed, that act is over. And for just a second, as he finishes his bandage, his eyes turn to me – an amber so rich it almost looks like melted gold with sparks of red reflected in them from the fire in front of him. And in that second alone, I see years of pain and abandonment and regret and guilt.

A male of many faults, a male who has done terrible, unforgiving things – and yet a tortured male all the same.

I try to imagine him being raised the way I was. Because despite everything that happened when we lost our fortune, my childhood had been filled with wonder and brief happiness and even love. Never from my mother, but father-

I was loved.

And if Eris had been raised the same in the quietness and stillness that governed the mortal world and its mortal lives, maybe the male in front of me would’ve turned out to be something else; something more. If he hadn’t been forced to fight with his brothers for the crown that guaranteed his survival-

It was his family’s fault as much as his own.

But love – that’s what’s missing from his life. And it had made all the difference.

“Did you really leave her in the woods to die?” I ask him.

Eris looks down towards the windows, as if he can’t bear to look at me as he says, “Yes. Yes I did.”

“Did you hold your brother down as he watched your other brothers murder the female he loved?”

“No,” he says evenly. His eyes snap back to me. “No, I did not.”

And I almost expect him to put up a fight about it – to snarl at me that he’s tired of being interrogated, questioned, doubted. But he doesn’t. There’s a quiet, almost calm air to him at this hour. Maybe it’s the way he relaxes on the couch, like he hasn’t done that in a long, long time, or maybe it’s the comforting, velvet murmur of his voice.

There’s a pause and then he says, sighing, “What I did to Morrigan cannot be forgiven. I have no excuse for it other than the fact that I was angry and ashamed that she had chosen a bastard born Illyrian over me. Those are not excuses worthy of forgiveness.”

My fingers clench in my palm at the words, but I let him continue. “I was young and ruthless and my father’s ideals were drilled into my head. I did leave her. And, at the time, I thought she deserved it.”

“You loved her.”

He frowns slightly – looks to me as if the words somehow burned him, hurt him.

Like – like he hadn’t let himself realize it before.

“Yes,” he says almost to himself. “I was deeply infatuated with her and the idea of being with her.”

I pause, looking towards the window. The snow outside gathers on the winter roses, embracing them in a blanket of white. I pull my robe tighter around my body.

“I will never be able to redeem myself, I’m aware. But if I could go back-“ He stops himself, and does not continue. There’s a long pause between his next words. “But that’s not what you want to ask,” Eris muses, giving me a half smile that makes him handsome. “Go on, then.”

He reads me as well as I read him.

Well, then.

“Why did you look at me the way you did?”

I see the realization in his eyes as soon as I say the words. I don’t need to say more – Eris knows what I’m referring to. He’s apprehensive, hesitant. And now again – that same softness I found in his eyes when he looked at me before, that same…something that makes me believe that if he’d been born in a different family, in different circumstances, maybe Eris would be a worthy male.

He looks at me for a few seconds and I almost think he’s going to stand and walk away from me. But then he says in a voice softer than the snowflakes falling outside that window, “Do you really have to ask?”

I start. Just considering what I think he means-

“You don’t know me,” I snap.

“You would think that,” he grins to himself, turning his body to rest more comfortably on the pillows.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I watched you during the war with Hybern,” he says, not meeting my gaze now. “And I admire you. Not for the powers you possess. But the bravery with which you fought. How ready you were to die for the ones you loved. A twenty-something creature ready to march into battle with the courage you do not find in fae males of a hundred years.” He shakes his head to himself. “I found myself looking at you and realizing that I would not mind being like you. I found myself wanting you to be the one to teach me to be like that.”

I’m silent, unmoving.

Eris turns his eyes to me. “Yes, I do want you.”

There’s an ugly bruise on the side of his neck – a particularly harsh one. I focus on it. I’m too taken aback by his blunt confession to do anything else.

“Before you rip my head off – I know I will never be reciprocated. You know the things I did, you know I haunted your sister down,” he says with the same calmness. “I told myself exactly that during the war, and I don’t expect you to even think about looking at me like that. So I’ve known for a while – ever since I saw you with him. Ever since I saw you kneeling over him, screaming and willing to die for him. Protecting him with everything you have.”

I try not to shrink in my seat.

“Why tell me this?”

“Why not?” He shrugs. “You know. You knew the answer before you asked the question. And you’re not going to be with me, anyway.”

He says it with no bitterness. He says it like it’s a fact, as simple as that.

I pause. “You could’ve lied.”

“I’m tired of lies.”

So am I.

But then – I’ve known for a while.

Icy water runs through my veins as I look at him, as I realize-

I whisper, “You know.”

“It wasn’t difficult to figure it out,” he says, looking my way. “The only one that hasn’t realized, it seems, is your mate.”

The word makes my legs go numb. It takes the breath out of my lungs.

I’ve known for a while. Of course I have, but hearing it being said out loud-

I wonder if my sisters know. I wonder if they had refrained from mentioning it just for my sake.

I pretend his words don’t hurt me as I ask him, quite harshly, “You wouldn’t attempt to take someone’s mate away for your own?”

“Not if I knew for a fact that she would never deem me worthy.”

And in all his arrogance, beneath all those sneers and cruel remarks – there was the male who did not think that much of himself at all.

“Stop pitying me,” he tells me. “I’m not telling you this so you can pity me.”

“Then why?”

“I want you to understand.”

“You said you’d already told yourself you wouldn’t have me,” I remind him. “So what does it matter what opinion I have of you?”

Eris breathes a laugh that contains no humour at all. “Oh, beautiful Nesta…” he slides down on the couch, resting his head on one of the pillows and looking up into the ceiling as if he could see the stars beneath that marble and those snow clouds that covered them. “If it was that easy I would’ve already erased you from all my dreams. I wouldn’t be dragging this moment out – just so I can talk to you.”

“I want nothing to do with you.”

He smiles. “I know.”

We’re quiet. I force myself to get up and leave, let him be with his thoughts, but then-

“Did you show him?” I ask against my better judgment. “Did you show him how you felt?”

For me.

“He saw everything there was to see.”

So that’s why-

The surprise on Rhysand’s face, my sister’s shock as she looked up the stairs where he had left.

“What your sister saw,” he says, smile wiped from his face and eyes still on the ceiling, “Two lives taken and a life given – does she know what it means?”

Does that mean I’m one of the lives taken? Is what he doesn’t ask. It’s fear he doesn’t show. For Eris showed his mind – his everything – to Rhysand just to prove his loyalty. He was stripped down to the core, his pride and dignity both thrown to the floor, but fear – that’s what we would never see in him.

“No,” I tell him. “She doesn’t recall saying those words.”

He nods – as if he already knew. Already asked.

“Hide her talent,” he tells me. “And yours. In the scenario where one of my brothers live and I die – protect yourselves. They will certainly find out about you and they will want you.”

“Why?”

“You’re an advantage, of course. Your sister can see if they die, making them change plans accordingly and you…” he pauses, “well, you can wipe an entire army if you damn well please.”

“No, I can’t,” I say.

“You will if you practice,” Eris says. “If you learn to control it – you could be the most powerful faerie ever created.”

The thought alone frightens me.

“Is that why you struck a deal with Rhysand in the first place?”

He doesn’t seem surprised by my question. “Partly so, though I did not know of Elain’s gift then. Only yours. In the beginning, when I first realized my feelings for you, I had a plan.” He grins then – an idiotic sort of grin. “You see, in my head, you would fall madly in love with me, agree to wed me, and we would both rule Autumn without having anyone aim swords at our backs – because we were powerful, and because of that, we were feared. Untouchable.”

I blink at him.

“It didn’t take long for me to realize that impossibility.”

“You must’ve been disappointed not to have the whole world at your feet. And me, too.”

Because that’s what it would take to be his wife – kneel, yield, obey.

He knows the implicit meaning behind those words, for he grins, “You would never bow to anyone, Nesta Archeron. You don’t even bow to your own High Lord and High Lady – and they’re your own court.”

“Who do you bow to?”

He snorts, shrugging. He looks me over. “I’d bow to you – if you’d let me.”

I look away from him, sneering. “Stop it.”

He lets out a little laugh, eyes crinkling momentarily.

“Are you still here to just let time pass before your mate gets home?” He asks, taunting. And then, not at all taunting, he asks, “Why have you stayed?”

I raise my chin, “Not because of what you’re thinking. I feel nothing for you.”

“And I know that’s true,” Eris claps back. “But you and I – we understand each other.”

I pause, looking him over. Eris supports his arm on his stomach now, like it hurts him. I wonder just how much. If it surpasses the pain in his chest. In his mind. I pause, and then I mutter, “Yes, I think we do.”

I get up as he says, “And that’s why you stayed. To talk.”

“To talk,” I repeat.

As I turn to walk away, I hear him say, “Me and you might be a lot similar than you think, after all.”

It makes me stop.

I look at him over my shoulder.

When he said to Rhysand-

I now realize it was not aimed at Rhysand at all.

It was aimed at me.

And I can’t help but to somewhat agree.

I tell him, “Eris,” and I see the pause in his breathing as his name rolls out of my mouth. I pretend I don’t notice. “I hope you win.”

The last thing I see before I walk away is Eris’ eyes turning towards the snow-painted window. The last thing I hear before I walk up the stairs is a murmured, “I hope I do too, Nesta.”

***

I erase all thoughts of previous conversations from my head as I slip into his bed.

I’m naked.

And as I rest my head on the pillow, I’m suddenly anxious.

I don’t know what I was thinking – coming to his room, stripping myself bare, waiting for him. I don’t know what I plan to accomplish.

I only know that I want him.

I only know that I need him.

I only know that I can’t stay alone in my room for one second longer.

And that word swimming around in my mind – mate mate mate – it makes me forget all about Eris’ words. Makes me not care at all. I did not care before, anyway.

It doesn’t matter. Not as turn on the sheets and feel Cassian’s scent all over me. Not as I anticipate him coming home, crawling into bed to find me bare for him.

Against my better wishes, a blush finds itself on my cheeks – and it burns my skin so much that I almost slip my clothes back on but-

I want him to see me. I’m his. No one else’s.

And – admittedly – I’m crazy curious to see his reaction at seeing me like this. Because despite what happened that morning…he’d never seen this much of me.

I’m suddenly reminded of his lips between my legs and –

I huff, shaking the thoughts from my head. Or attempting to, for my brain only conjures images of his smiling eyes looking up at me, his smile as he leaves gentle kisses up my stomach, his laugh as he looks down at me, pieces of his hair falling on my face, tickling my skin…

I hear him before I feel his scent.

His steps up the stairs are slow, careful, yet I feel his wings drag over the polished wood. He’s tired. I start to think that maybe this wasn’t a good idea when he opens the door this bedroom.

He stops on the doorframe. My back is to him. I hear his heart skip a beat, his breath stopping, and I can just picture his eyes snapping immediately to my disregarded clothes at the end of his bed as his nose picks up my scent in the darkness.

I feel his eyes on my and I almost tremble in anticipation as Cassian closes the door, very softly, probably believing me asleep.

I’m not asleep.

I’m wide awake – taking in every step and every breath he takes. Noticing how he walks to the end of his bed, touching my clothes – then looking at me again. I feel his heart pounding in his chest as Cassian walks around his side of the mattress.

He looks at me. Slowly, I open my eyes.

I’m anxious. I’m so exhilarated.

His face is tender and oh so loving. He stares at me as if he couldn’t be happier to have me here. I want to see that expression forever imprinted on him. I want that smile to never fade from his lips. I want that joy I’m sensing from him to never pass.

Cassian says nothing as he undresses himself.

I watch silently, my heart pounding in my chest.

I want you on a bed.

His shirt is off. His trousers follow not too late after. He has only a pair of black shorts on him that do nothing to hide the size of him.

My throat goes dry.

Cassian hesitates, observing me. Then those shorts are gone too.

I’m dead.

Every inch of him – perfect. He is carved from pure brutality, packed with muscle that has known five hundred years of battles and fighting. His skin looks darker in the pale moonlight, a stark contrast between the sheets that cover me and the snow outside. He observes my reaction to him closely, searching my face as my eyes slide over him up and down, then up again. They stop at his middle.

I swallow.

To say he’s…more than I expected it’s an understatement. I don’t know if I should take him in my hands, my mouth, or run away.

I have no idea what to do.

I have no idea how to breathe.

But I manage to lift the sheets off me. I don’t hesitate. Cassian parts his lips as I do, eyeing me up and down, his eyes stopping at the curve of my breasts, my stomach, my thighs. He looks into my eyes as I sit up, and he visibly trembles as I slide off the bed and take two steps to him.

I look him over much more closely.

Faint scars adorn pretty much every inch of him. His chest is covered with them. Gently, I trace them with the tips of my icy fingers. Cassian does not flinch away from the coldness of my hands – he inches towards me. Towards that cold. He takes in a jagged breath as I move my fingers down his chest, exploring as long as he lets me, wants me. I look up at him – then my eyes slide to the wings that flare slightly behind him. My breath escapes me again.

The moonlight reflects on them, white against black. It shows all the little veins and scars that adorn them. The healed patches, where they had been ripped-

I refrain from shaking at the memory.

Instead, I take my hand and lightly trace the tip. Cassian gasps as soon as I do it and I pull back immediately thinking I hurt him.

But he grabs my wrist again, shaking his head. “It’s just sensible,” he murmurs.

“I’m sorry-“

He shakes his head again, “Touch them again.”

I hesitate. But I lightly trace the same spot, letting my fingers drag down over the contour, feeling the hard spots and the softer ones, watching his face as I go along.

I have never seen something more beautiful.

My hand goes up again, as gentle as possible.

I reach the membrane and Cassian lets out a sudden breath, parting his lips. My eyes snap to him and curiosity strikes me. I trace the same spot, very lightly.

He breathes in, opening his eyes to me.

“Extra sensible?” I guess.

Cassian smiles. “Very.”

I wonder what he’ll do if I touch him there again but – I want to touch other parts of him.

He lets me touch him, my fingertips dragging over his arms, feeling the pure, sheer strength of him, then lower to his waist. I dare to look down.

Cassian takes my chin between his two fingers and touches his lips to mine.

It’s a gentle kiss. The sort of kiss that feels like the first snowflake as it falls on your cheek. The sort of kiss that feels like feeling the first breeze of spring laced with morning sun rays on your skin. It feels like I’m falling in love with him all over again.

I’m in love with him.

I’m in love with him.

My mate.

He pulls away, so slow. I open my eyes to look up at him and, as he lowers his hand, there’s a question in his gesture, in his eyes. Without another word, without taking my eyes off him, I lean in closer to him, letting my breast touch the palm of his hand.

I almost gasp at the contact.

His warm – so warm.

I let him trace my breast slowly with just the tips of his fingers, then take in a breath as I feel his thumb grazing my nipple. He’s so gentle and yet I feel like I’ve caught on fire and I’ve been burning for a thousand years. More.

His hand lowers, and his other hand joins as he traces my sides, his calloused palms memorizing the curve of my waist, the bones at my hips. And as his eyes follow his moments, I see a trace of sadness in his gaze.

“What is it?” I whisper to him, my hand coming to rest on his cheek.

“This,” he murmurs, fingers following the line of a thin scar at my hip. A graze of a sword during the war, never fully faded.

I look down. Touch his hand and bring it to my lips, as I tell him, “So? You have thousands of those.”

Cassian furrows his eyebrows slightly. He takes my lips again – so gently. He murmurs against them, “I’ll make sure you’ll never have another again.”

When his tongue opens my mouth to him, I let him in. I taste him with a need worth a thousand years, all the while wrapping my arms around his shoulders and pressing myself against him. Cassian groans in my mouth as his length presses against the bottom of my stomach, and I just want to inch my leg up and feel him against other parts of me.

His hands are on my cheeks, thumbs caressing my skin. He whispers against my lips, “You’re so beautiful.” And I know I’m gone forever, lost in his gaze, in his body – in him.

I kiss him again, and this time, I drag my hand down.

And grasp him.

He gasps against my mouth as my hand slides easily up and down his length. He’s soft, so soft in my hand, and so hard and rough at the same time. 

“Nesta,” he groans my name.

I kiss it off his lips.

And get drunk on his taste as my tongue traces his bottom lip. I squeeze him gently.

And Cassian digs his fingers on my waist, my name a prayer on his lips.

I touch my lips to his chest, right where his heart lies, beating erratically. The sound is beautiful in my ears.

“Do you want me to stop?” I whisper.

He attempts to control his moan as I squeeze him again – at the tip this time.

“You have to,” he manages to blurt out.

With heartbreaking tenderness, Cassian holds my wrist.

“You’re killing me, Nes,” he grumbles.

I blink up at him.

“Look at you,” he says, pushing my hair off my face. “The way you’re looking at me right now…” he shakes his head, looks towards the bed. “I could just take you right here and now. In a house full of high fae who could hear everything-“

Heat gathers in my core at his words. I’m suddenly dying to lay down on that bed and spread myself for him. But the sensible part of me yells that I can’t.

Despite that, I still try: “I can be quiet.”

Cassian raises his eyebrows at me. “No you can’t, sweetheart.”

“I need an apartment of my own,” I mumble.

Cassian breathes in a laugh as he kisses me. I can feel how much he wants me in that kiss alone but- 

Not now. Not yet.

“We can still sleep,” he tells me.

I look down at his length.

Cassian huffs a laugh, “It’ll pass, don’t worry.”

“I can take care of it for you.”

Cassian actually throws his head back, “Nesta.”

I bite my lip, “Sorry. We’ll sleep – I’ll behave. Promise.”

“You’ll have what’s coming for you,” Cassian says against my ear, gently squeezing my ass. I muffle a giggle against his chest. “When I take you.”

“You can’t say things like that to me and not expect me to not want to touch you.”

“Soon,” he promises. “Soon, sweetheart.”

Soon doesn’t seem soon enough.

But still, I let Cassian hold me between the sheets, and I grow sleepier by the second.

He murmurs, “I’ll dream of a lifetime of this.”

I smile against his chest, that same word echoing inside my mind. “You will have it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” I say, craning my neck to touch my lips to his chin. “You promised me time. And time we will have.”

We look at each other for a long time, our fingers tracing our skins, memorizing out scars.

My mate.

“We will,” he promises. “We will, sweetheart.”

Cassian pulls me close to his chest. And my heart beats only for him from that moment on.

Despite the growing happiness in my heart, I can’t help but have one last thought before I fall asleep.

And it’s not of Cassian.

It’s Elain’s frightened voice, haunting me and every future dreams of mine, Two lives taken and a life given.


	8. Chapter 8

Eris

I’m not sure when it happened, exactly.

When she began wrapping herself around my heartstrings and tugging at them, no matter if she was standing close by or away.

Maybe it had been the second those stormy eyes glared my way, in that meeting. Maybe it had been the second her mouth opened and that powerful, thunder-clap voice had reached my ears. I don’t know.

I don’t know.

And it had been easy, so easy, to ignore that incessant pang in my chest everytime I saw her. In the beginning, at least, it had been simple to tone down that part of myself, to push away those feelings with a reminder that it was just lust. Just lust – nothing else.

It wasn’t just lust.

I did want her. I wanted those sharp, cunning eyes on me, those delicate hands on my face, thumbs tracing the contours of my jaw. I wanted to know that quick mind and stinging words, and I wanted to know how her voice would sound beneath the sheets, whispering my name, begging me to touch her, kiss her, please her. I wanted her murmurs and screams and I wanted her, I wanted her, I wanted her. Before, I wanted her. Now-

I do want her. Yes, though not just her body underneath mine.

I want those sharp eyes to look at me without disdain. I want that mouth to curve into a smile without a trace of a sneer. I want those quick words to turn into whispered syllables that spell my name. I want her to forget – I want her to forget the male I am, was. I want her mate gone. I want-

I turn my head away from the window and look towards the dying fire. I create a ball of flame out of thin air in my hand, watching the embers swirl around. My fire – it can never kill me.

But hers might. 

I believe it might be doing its job just fine, already.

I scoff to myself, my hand closing into a fist and erasing the last traces of fire.

My life is at risk – more than it has ever been before –, my brothers are preparing to murder me, take my throne from me and I-

I’m lying on a couch feeling sorry for myself because of a female.

A mated one, too.

Mother above. I have reached rock bottom, indeed.

She has a mate. A mate.

And yet-

The way she stared at me just an hour ago, the way her back straightened when I told her I wanted her, the way she tried to contain the shock on her face… 

And – You and I. We understand each other.

Yes. I think we do.

And that’s why you stayed. To talk.

To talk.

She will not choose me in the end.

She will not choose anyone, anything, other than him – the bastard.

The pain in my chest lasts longer than I intend it to; I try to ease it down, to erase the disappointment that washes over me like a bucket of ice water, but-

I wonder if she knows I can hear her laughter from upstairs. I wonder if she knows I can hear the soft giggles come out of her and the whispered nothings she says to him as I pass his room in the hallway. I wonder if she’s aware of my fascination as I close the door of my own bedroom – at hearing that sound coming from her. She sounds-

Like a choir of angels.

It’s a sound you wouldn’t expect to hear, not in a lifetime or two or three or a thousand. It’s a sound too beautiful to be real.

It dies down as soon as my door shuts.

And then I’m staring at my strange, almost unrecognizable reflection. I walk to it – to the male with the dark under eyes and the sickly pale skin and the worried face. I try to find in that male a glimpse of what he used to be, but I have no luck.

I place my hand on the cold glass, watching myself blink.

Two lives taken and a life given.

My brothers must be killing each other right now – letting me hide until a winner comes out alive out of the three of them. Though I know Dagon will out-best our brothers. I know he will win – he was always the strongest, always the fastest and always the smartest. I know he will bid his time, and will only strike when he deems it opportune, when it’s convenient. Out of every single one of us he’s the one that’s most like our father.

At the first thought of him, my eyes travel to the harsh bruise on my neck, right where his thumb had pressed before my dagger went through his ribs. The bruise she looked at, as if-

As if she could figure it out what the rest of my life had been just by looking at it.

Although she would never understand. None of my brothers would, either. My father left more bruises on my mind than he ever left on my body. And no one could ever know the lengths he went to just to make sure I would become cruel and vindictive enough to deserve his throne and crown. No one, not even Rhysand, would ever fully understand what he had forced me to do Under the Mountain-

I turn away from the mirror.

I want to shatter it. I want to shatter myself into pieces.

My legs suddenly feel numb and I stumble my way back to my bed, my mind a chaotic map of images that consist of dark sheets and harsh tugs, hellfire and horrific painted smiles.

I shudder.

Two lives taken and a life given.

Maybe if I die – maybe it wouldn’t be such a punishment to be killed in the battle that approaches us. Maybe death isn’t a curse – maybe…maybe it’s a blessing. A relief.

Maybe I should go to my mother, after all. Maybe I’ll give her the killing strike and be done with it; let Dagon rule Autumn and destroy Prythian for all I care. Let him kill them all.

Or I’ll let Nesta Archeron be the one to have a knife pressed on my throat. I’ll let my dying wish be a quick death at her hands. I’ll die knowing I made her happy at least once since we’ve met. Cauldron knows I deserve it.

I almost forget her hands were around my neck just hours before, pressing on my wounds. My instinct had been to set myself into flames, to burn her, make her step away from me as my brain replayed the times my father had done the exact same to me.

But she barely hurt me.

And I saw it in her eyes as she stared at me that she never meant to. Like she knew. Like it had just been a reaction she couldn’t control, the need to protect her mate clouding her judgement-

And yet she didn’t hurt me.

She could’ve – I deserved to have my life squeezed out of me. But Nesta Archeron saw something in my eyes that made her fingers loosen their grip on me.

She didn’t hurt me.

And part of me wonders if, even before she saw the bruises, there was a part of her that knew, somehow. That guessed.

Two lives taken and a life given.

I close my eyes.

Eris.

I hope you win.

I hope I do too.

***

Cassian

The winter sun blinds me from the mountain top.

Feyre and I watch over the Illyrian camps, our eyes focused on the soldiers below in quiet contemplation as they practise with each other. There’s an eerie silence around us despite the clashing of swords and the occasional grunts, screams and war cries down below, and I know exactly why.

It’s been almost two weeks and – silence.

Silence is all we hear in Prythian. Not a trace of news from Eris’ brothers, no war declarations, nothing out of the ordinary in the Autumn Court. And it’s strange. Very strange, indeed.

Because the Autumn Court itself is silent. They have no High Lord on the throne, the people are governing themselves and everything just seems…sketchy. Azriel’s spies keep confirming that everything is quiet, everything is peaceful, not a single soldier ready to march on our borders to tear us or our own Court apart, despite the fact that we have the supposed heir to the throne right here with us.

We are completely blind.

During these two weeks we have sat around the office in the House of Wind to discuss strategy – the rat included. We have a war plan. We had an escape, a safety route, for various scenarios. We are ready to strike.

But strike what?

We can’t possible strike an invisible enemy.

Two days after Rhysand took Eris to Velaris, in came a message from Lucien saying he wanted to join us in this war. Feyre herself went to winnow him to the House of Wind and-

Well. It almost came to a blood bath.

The second Lucien stepped into the house and scented the air, his eyes turned to Eris, and before any of us knew what they were planning to do with each other, Lucien flung himself at his brother.

Flame against flame.

Almost burned the fucking mountain down.

It seems that news didn’t spread as fast as we expected – and as Lucien heard of what happened, his immediate thought had been his mother.

“Where is she?” he’d screamed at Eris, pinning him down to the floor with shackles made of fire. “What did you do to her, you sick son of-“

“She’s hid, you dumb fool,” Eris had screamed back. “I needed to hide her from them. Do you think I would kill my own mother?”

“You killed your own father.”

“Like you hadn’t wanted to do it for years,” Eris had bitten back. “At least I had the guts to do it-“

Lucien had wrapped his hands around his brother’s throat, and me and Azriel had stood back, arms crossed, sighing in boredom. Truthfully, I was rooting for Lucien. I wouldn’t mind seeing the rat that was his brother with his head twisted the other way around.

But Amren – Amren of all people – stepped in.

“If you two are done with your family drama,” she’d snarled, a hand holding each one of their collars, their feet off the ground. “We have work to do. So get your shit together. Now.”

I saw Elain pushing Lucien back by his arm, away from Amren and especially away from Eris, who had smoke coming out of his ears. Quite literally. I saw, in that same second, Azriel observing that gesture with a predator’s focus, his hands clenched at his side.

But as soon as Lucien had stepped away and calmed down, Elain was already by my brother’s side, her fingers entwining with his. We all pretended not to see the pure joy and relief in Azriel’s gaze. We all pretended not to see the utter misery in Lucien’s.

Thus, Lucien joined us.

And it has been…tense, to say the least. Especially since we have no idea what the fuck is going on. All we know is that something big, something frightening, is coming.

And we all need to be prepared for it.

“Is Keir still cooperating?” I ask Feyre all of a sudden.

Her eyes focus on me. “You’ll be surprised to know his army is still bloodthirsty after the war with Hybern. Keir…not so much. But,” she smirks, “he has no other choice, really. His soldiers want to join us this time. The monsters want to come out of their cage. And Keir has no way to stop that. He either joins them, or Mor will put an axe to his head.”

I snort. “Only if it had been that easy to convince him before.”

Feyre and I switch amused looks.

“Eris was saying that it’s more likely that his brothers have gone to get their own armies in Hybern,” Feyre says in a darker tone. “But Hybern…Hybern is completely wrecked after the war. Their soldiers and resources…”

“You still trust his words.”

Feyre pauses, but then in a quiet voice she says, “Yes.”

And I can’t ignore it anymore, so I ask her, almost exasperated, “Why?”

Feyre pauses again, looking away from me. “Me and Rhys weren’t the only ones to go through hell Under the Mountain. He’s telling us the truth, Cass.”

Every fibre of my being is telling me to refuse those words, to fight them with a retort of my own. But something stops me. The tone she uses-

I wasn’t there. So I can’t possibly know-

I sigh. Then I tell her, going back to our previous point, “That alliance with Hybern doesn’t seem likely.”

“No,” she says. “But it’s also not impossible. Months have passed – and in that time, a people can heal. Grow. Autumn might be trying to get allies outside of Prythian, but he also said something else.”

“Do enlighten me, sister.”

“Eris says that it’s more likely that the eldest of his brothers, Dagon, might be the one to look out for. To worry about. He’s strong. Smart. Cunning. He might’ve already killed his other brothers.”

“And what?” I tell her, crossing my arms and flexing my wings to try and get this agitation off my body. “Dagon killed his brothers and then went and hid his ass in the mortal world?”

“Maybe – maybe he’ll strike a deal with the queens,” Feyre guesses, her own wings folding tightly behind her.

“I doubt it,” I say, though, as I think it through…we might be facing a lot more enemies than we expect. “The queens wouldn’t join a war. Not willingly.”

Feyre gives me a meaningful, sharp look. “You’re right. Not willingly.”

I start. “Even if Dagon managed to threaten them, they have no power-“

“Human armies are still armies, Cass,” my sister says, her voice solemn as she looks at the horizon. “And human armies with faebane…”

I breathe in the gentle afternoon air, letting the scent of the pine trees and piled snow mixed with the dirt and dust calm me. There is a long pause before I speak again.

“Do you think Lucien will fight for his throne, too?” I ask her.

Feyre hesitates, but then she states, “Lucien doesn’t want anything to do with his Court or his people. They have always mistreated him, so he has no interest in the crown. When he sides with us, he does it for Elain.”

Peace – will we ever have it? Will it ever stop, these conflicts? Will there ever be a world in which we’re completely safe? Happy? Rested?

“We’ve survived worse things, Cass,” Feyre suddenly says very gently, as she touches my arm. “We will survive this.”

I look down at her, at the soft smile she offers. “We have to,” I say just as softly, patting her hand back.

We have to.

I have to – now that I finally…

Now that I finally have her. Now that things are starting to come together between us, now that I’m close to finding out if we’re truly-

And it’s as if Feyre knows the name that’s ringing in my head, for she asks, “How’s training?”

I can hear the smile in her voice.

I turn my eyes away, feeling stupidly giddy. “Good.”

An eyebrow raised my way. “Is Nesta…improving?”

I cough loud enough to mask the thoughts that go through my mind. “Sure.”

Feyre turns her eyes away then, but I see a quiet smile on her face as her gaze travels over the snowy mountains. She says, “I’m happy, then.”

I look at her.

She doesn’t meet my eyes, but there’s something close to relieved happiness on her face as she continues, “I have a lot to thank you for, Cassian. I don’t know what would’ve become of my sister if it weren’t for you. If you hadn’t shown up that night.”

I shake my head. “Nesta doesn’t need me,” I tell her. “She’s her own hero. She’s healing all on her own.”

“Not all on her own,” Feyre says. “She’s…different ever since that night. Her eyes are clearer, have you noticed? Brighter. More attentive.” There’s a pause then, and my sister turns to me slowly. She doesn’t hesitate. “I know you love her.”

I can do nothing but stare at her. The words whirl around in my head over and over, revolving around a single, lonely, still doubtful one-

“I can’t speak for her,” Feyre adds, sighing softly. “But what you’ve done, Cass…” a heavy pause. My sister’s eyes fall to the white ground for a single second, and then she looks up at me. “I know she’s every bit as grateful as I am. As Elain is. You two…are good for each other.”

My throat is in knots. When I finally manage to say, “Yes, I think we are,” it comes out slightly strained, like the realization of that fact sets something ablaze inside my throat. “Thank you, Feyre.”

“I wish you all the happiness in the world, Cass,” she smiles. “Mother knows you deserve it.”

I know I don’t need to wish her the same – for Feyre already knows. She has already found that happiness. And I…well.

I think I’ve found it as well.

I’m about to open my mouth to tell her as much when we hear the wings.

And Azriel lands right behind us the moment we turn our heads.

“Az,” says Feyre. “Any news?”

“I just came from talking to Rhys,” Azriel says. And I see it. I see it all in his eyes. Something terrible, something-

“What is it?” Feyre murmurs, her eyes wide at seeing our brother’s shaken expression.

Az pauses, eying us both before he says, “Dagon lives. He’s come back and is now sitting on the throne of the Autumn Court.”

***

“The borders are closed off in Autumn,” Azriel says as soon as we land in the balcony of the House of Wind, where we already find Rhys, Mor and Eris. The rat snaps his attention to us as Azriel continues, “Soldiers all along the borders – we no longer have access to it.”

“Did you scent the faebane?” Lucien asks, appearing in the doorway. He leans against the glass frame, his arms crossed and his red hair bound with one of my ties.

Az shakes his head. “No, nothing.” He looks at Rhys, his expression a mixture of hopelessness and anger. “We got as close as we could.”

“Nuala and Cerridwen?” Rhys asks.

Our brother shakes his head once more. “They couldn’t get past the guards. No matter how many lies…” his voice trails off as he sighs. “They had to disappear or risk getting recognized.”

“If your wraiths can’t get past the soldiers…” Feyre says as she walks to her mate, her head turned in Azriel’s way.

“No one will,” finishes Lucien.

“You can’t get past our borders,” Eris says, looking around. “We cannot move before Dagon. When he makes the first move, we strike.”

“And risk being taken by surprise?” Feyre sneers. Rhys wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close. His expression matches hers as they stare Eris down.

“There’s no other choice,” Eris says. “Think. The borders are closed for a reason – he’s hiding something. Something…valuable, maybe.”

“Faebane?” Attempts Mor. She looks at Azriel. “But if you didn’t detect it-“

“He can hide it well,” Eris cuts in, not looking at her. “Our territory is full of rivers and ponds – water erases almost all of faebane’s scent. That’s why it took me so long that day, when I dug it out, to actually find it. Dagon might’ve discovered more somewhere else. It’s difficult to find, so if he managed it…he’ll hide it well.”

Mor crosses her arms over her chest as she scoffs, “We should’ve just burned your whole Court to the ground when it was abandoned,” she shoots Eris a look. Though Lucien remains stone-faced.

“I would have no throne to rule over.” He almost growls. I want to smash his face in.

“Even better.”

“Mor,” Azriel says, “Have you had any luck with Viviane yet?”

Mor turns her eyes away from the rat and looks at Azriel, “I’m working on it,” she promises. “Viviane is doing all she can but…” Mor shrugs, a sigh coming out of her.

“Kallias hasn’t been easy to deal with,” Feyre completes, touching Mor’s arm delicately. “I understand why. But we could use the help. You’re doing what you can, Mor.”

We are all doing what we can.

But still – waiting around, training our soldiers and tell them to get ready when the threat is still so confusing…it weakens us, day by day.

“Shouldn’t we discuss this when the rest are present?” I say to no one in particular. “Where are they?”

“Nesta and Amren are practising in Amren’s apartment,” Mor says.

I can only imagine what a friendship between those two would cause. I almost smile.

“Elain is upstairs in her room, reading,” Lucien drawls from the doorframe.

We all go silent as Azriel snaps his head to him. There are shadows in my brother’s eyes as he stares at Lucien, as he interprets the meaning of those words-

Shit.

Awkward.

Lucien turns his head away nonchalantly, as if none of this affects him.

I can only imagine what Azriel is feeling. Though Elain would never betray him…there will always, always, be a part of him that wonders. That doubts. That…imagines the day where she’s going to run off into her mate’s arms and leave him. Even if Lucien has explicitly taken a step back. Even if Elain has denied any kind of romantic link.

Without another word, my brother spreads his shadow-covered wings, and leaps into the skies.

We all stare after him.

And then Rhys sighs. He tells us, “Let us meet in two hours to discuss things. To form a legitimate, final plan.”

There are solemn, silent nods between us all. And then we all disperse.

***

We have a plan.

There will be no fight until we are explicitly provoked by Dagon.

We will not invade the Autumn Court.

We cannot put our safety at risk, since we don’t know what awaits us in Dagon’s Court, what he has planned.

So we are going to wait.

Much to my displeasure.

Because Dagon will strike – he will not content himself with ruling with two of his brothers out there, risking the safety of his own crown. We need to act – though not right now, according to popular opinions.

Rhysand and Feyre deemed it the safest option – and I can do nothing but trust that my brother and sister are doing the right thing.

I hope we’re doing the right thing.

I go upstairs to my room after dinner, but not without sneaking a peak at her, before going up the stairs.

She looks so beautiful tonight.

Every other night she looks stunning, breathtaking. But maybe I’m just a lonely dog after a long, lonely day without seeing her. Maybe it’s the fact that I miss her touch, though we haven’t been separated for more than just a few hours.

Nesta sleeps in my room every night.

And I can never contain my joy at seeing her already wrapped in my sheets, already fast asleep, when I get home. I can’t get rid of my armour fast enough or get inside the covers fast enough or hold her body fast enough. She always lets out a little sound every time she feels me, her sleepy mind only aware that I’ve come home – I’ve come back to her. I hold her close to my chest, and Nesta wraps her arms around mine.

Sometimes I find her naked.

It wrecks me.

And it lowers my self-control back to level -10.

When I ask her, a smirk plastered on my face and a ‘Though I don’t mind it at all’ right after, Nesta says it’s much more comfortable without clothes.

“You’re too hot,” she told me one night, not too long ago. “You immediately warm up the sheets.”

I’d raised my eyebrows at her. And she’d shot me a look right back, saying, “Literally.”

“Not figuratively?”

She’d paused, then Nesta had craned her neck to place a kiss on my mouth that had left me hungrier for her. She’d whispered, “In every way.”

It’s more and more difficult every day not to touch her the way she wants me to. The way I want to. It’s a kind of restraint that I have to teach myself every day, for every time I see her, my self-control is thrown out the window and all I want to do is push her against a wall and fuck her senseless.

It doesn’t help whenever she looks at me with that blush on her cheeks and those eyes that just beg me to let her have her way with me.

Oh, how I would let her have my way with me.

We usually train during the mornings. And it takes everything in me not to let myself get distracted by her. I might always steal a kiss or two, though I take her training as seriously as she does. And Nesta is a fast learner.

A strong one, too.

She’d managed to pin me to the ground one day, and I’d blamed her and her beautiful face for distracting me, though we both knew Nesta could perfectly be just as strong as I am. Every single strength of hers meets my own, and it’s not difficult at all to explain every technique and move to her and actually get her to accomplish it fairly well.

A warrior queen through and through.

Tonight, though, she stays downstairs with her sisters, quietly sipping her wine as they chat to each other. And I’m more than happy to see her like this – talking, eating, drinking. The occasional lift of her mouth whenever Elain laughs. It brings me so much joy to see this side of her – the side she hadn’t let anyone see for so many years.

So I leave her with a gentle smile. Nesta stares back at me with a promise that she’ll join me later. For now though – I need a nice long bath.

The moment I sink into the warm water I let out a long, relieved breath. I rest my head back and allow myself to close my eyes, to eliminate any kind of associations to the war in my brain. I think of nothing. I feel nothing. And for the first time in a long, long while, I actually let myself feel calm.

***

I have no idea how much time passes when I realize I’ve fallen asleep. I wake up with a start, only to find a very amused Nesta standing by the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. I look at her. Say, “Creep much?”

“I’ve just arrived.”

“Yeah, right,” I throw a smirk her way. “Any excuse serves you to see me naked, uh?”

Nesta raises her eyebrows at me and at the roughness in my voice from sleep. She doesn’t step into the bathroom as she says, “If I want to see you naked all I have to do is ask, brute.”

She’s right – of course she’s right.

But I won’t tell her that.

“Are you that certain of yourself, sweetheart?”

“I am, actually.”

“You don’t seem to have any problems in taking your clothes off for me, either,” I tease her, leaning my elbows against the large tub, big enough to fit three more people, and looking at her with my chin rested on my forearms. “Ain’t that right?”

Nesta says nothing – just eyes me with those piercing blue eyes. Always analysing, always calculating.

I tell her, “Indeed,” I lick my lips, eyeing her up and down. Her body reacts instantly – her breath picks up, her lips parted as she watches my eyes travel all over her, her fingers twitching. I give her a smile. “Why don’t you come here and prove me right, Nesta, sweetheart?”

She takes two steps forward and I’m almost shaking.

She touches the first two buttons of the front of her dress and I’m burning on the inside.

The water heats as my body temperature raises. As Nesta takes another step forward, slowly pushing those buttons apart when-

She eyes the tub.

Stops in place.

“Nes?”

She almost stumbles back and I’m up in an instant, ready to leap out and hold her-

But she straightens. And breathes in. She grasps her hands to stop them from shaking, so then, “I…I just-“

“No,” I tell her gently, “Sweetheart, let’s not. You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“We can take a shower,” I attempt, moving to step out and walk to her. But then Nesta is holding out a hand in front of her.

She breathes, “Stay there. Let me do it. Please.”

I stop in place.

I keep standing, not minding at all as her eyes glaze over as she looks me over, up and down, quickly. Nesta takes in another breath, and undoes the rest of her front buttons hurriedly. I attempt to tell her, once more, that she does not have to get in this tub, but-

“I need to do this,” she tells me. There’s a certain hesitance to her as she admits, “I need you to help me.”

My heart hurts. I murmur to her, “Anything you need.”

Nesta lets her dress fall to the ground.

I breathe in, not being able to take my eyes away from her face. Though the rest of her body…I will never get tired of the sight of it. I will never fully commit it to memory, not in a thousand years, not if I have her every single day of our lives-

She’s too good. Too perfect.

She trembles as she lets her undergarments fall as well.

The words come out of my mouth before I can fully think them through, “You’re breathtaking.”

Nesta looks as me like her world has never known anything other than goodness and happiness. She gives me a smile – and it’s a quiet, sort of dishevelled smile, like she didn’t expect those words to be aimed her way. My heart pounds in my chest at seeing her like that.

Her apprehension soon returns.

I hold out my hand to her. “Slowly,” I tell her. “There’s no rush. I’m here.”

Nesta eyes my hand. I see the need to run away in her eyes. I see that desperation, that pain that those memories bring her.

“You have nothing to be afraid of. I’m here with you.”

Nesta takes my hand, still unmoving. She confesses quietly, “I don’t want to lose control again.”

“You won’t, sweetheart. Look at me,” I take her chin between my fingers, make her eyes meet mine. “You’re doing beautifully. One step – take that one step. I’m here.”

She squeezes my hand.

“Nothing will happen to you as long as I’m here,” I assure her, squeezing her hand right back.

Nesta steps in.

Her legs go instantly numb, but I catch her on time.

I pull her close to my chest, as close as I can get her trembling body to mine, and kiss her head. I whisper to her, “It’s fine. You’re okay, beautiful. You’re okay, Nesta.”

She stops trembling. Her hands are touching my chest. She looks down at the tub, at the warm water.

“Will you hold me?” She whispers, looking up at me.

“I’ll never let you go,” I say, kissing each one of her cheeks ever so gently. Nesta closes her eyes as I do. I whisper to her, “Never again.”

Slowly, for just one second, I pull my arms away from her.

She breathes in – but she watches me. She keeps her eyes wide open as I sit down on the tub, as I open my legs to give her space to sit between me. Nesta seems to count to three before she lowers herself down slowly.

Her eyes close as she sits.

Nesta gasps, “Cassian.”

I immediately wrap my arms around her body, pulling her against my chest, my lips at her shoulder. “Shh, sweetheart.”

“I can’t-“

“Yes, yes you can. You’re already here,” I tell her gently, moving my hands back and forth in her stomach. “Open your eyes, Nesta. Open your eyes.”

She does.

“You’re not in the cauldron. Look around. Feel me. I’m here, my love,” I whisper softly against the skin of her shoulder, trailing kisses along her skin. She feels cold to the touch. “The waters aren’t cold, you see? This isn’t the cauldron,” I repeat. “You’re home.”

I will her to rest her body against mine, and Nesta slowly places her head on my shoulder, her eyes to the ceiling.

“Good,” I tell her as I feel her heartbeat calm down against my own. “Good, that’s it.” I rub small circles on her stomach until her legs stop shaking. “My brave, brave Nesta.”

One of her hands grasp mine.

I ask her, “You okay?”

Nesta eyes her surroundings. “Yes,” lets her hand trail over my fingers on her stomach, grasping her body and keeping her close to me. “Yes, I’m okay.”

I kiss her shoulder, so gently. Then my mouth makes a trail up her neck, reaching her ear. “You’re okay, I’m here.”

She breathes out, cocking her head to the side as my lips caress the tender skin there. I feel her heartbeat slowing down with each passing second, her body visibly relaxing under my embrace. I smile against her skin and, to my utter delight, I feel her smiling slightly to herself, too.

“Keep talking to me,” she tells me.

“Where are the others?”

Because I can’t hear anyone – not even that rat Eris – in the house.

“They went out,” Nesta says quietly, stroking my fingers. “Feyre suggested they all go to that club you always used to go to.”

And considering I received no word for it, and everyone in the House went – especially Lucien and Eris – and, well, also taking into account my conversation with Feyre this morning…I’d say she had it planned all along. Just to give me and Nesta some privacy.

I get a feeling Nesta knows it, too.

But I ask anyway, “You didn’t go.”

She turns her head slightly, enough for her to look at me – down at my lips, then back into my eyes. She murmurs, “I would rather stay here with you.”

I have a million, billion, trillion butterflies in my stomach at her words. A whole billion more as Nesta turns her head slightly and captures my lips. It’s as much of a distraction for her as it is for me.

So I kiss her.

It’s a fervent kiss.

Slow, filled with want and passion. There’s an urgency in the way she kisses me, and I know it’s not just because she wants to forget the cauldron and the dark waters.

I spread my fingers on her stomach, caressing her skin underneath the water. Nesta pulls her lips away to breathe, swallowing.

“How are you feeling?”

Although I don’t need to ask. There’s still agitation in her mind, though she’s fighting it.

“I’m fine.”

“Sweetheart, we can stop.”

Her eyes meet mine. I have my heart in my throat as she whispers, “I don’t want to stop.”

When she takes my lips again, I groan into her mouth without meaning to. She’s gripping my arms with everything she has, digging her nails in my skin as if she’s trying to keep herself tied to this world and not sink away in that cauldron of her mind.

She will never sink with me.

I will make sure she always stays safe, afloat.

Nesta responds at my groan by letting her tongue into mouth. She’s hot everywhere now, kissing me with a different kind of fervour. She’s distracted – and as long as she stays that way, she’s calm.

That’s why I dive my hand deeper.

Nesta gasps, pulling away from my mouth as she feels my hand between her legs. Her eyes flutter closed as my fingers move up and down slowly, repeatedly.

“You’re okay,” I whisper to her again. “Lean back, sweetheart. That’s it. You’re with me. I’m here.”

I kiss the tender part of her neck, then right on that spot I know she loves where it meets her shoulder. Nesta spreads her legs – and it’s such a beautiful sight on its own that I harden against her instantly. I dive my fingers lower.

She moans against me.

But my hand goes back up, refusing to give her what she wants so soon.

This time it’s me who turns her face, capturing her lips with mine. I kiss her slowly, gently, like we have all the time in the world, while my fingers continue their ministrations between her legs, slowly alternating between stroking her folds and circling her clit.

Her hips start moving against me.

“Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

She lets out a gasp at my whispered words against her ear, at the pressure I apply on her centre. I kiss her temple, watching as the muscles on the inside of her legs strain as her hips lift off the tub just slightly, whenever I do something right.

“I want to hear you, Nesta,” I smile against her, loving the way she whispers my name, her eyes closed. I kiss the delicate tip of her ear. “Let me hear you, beautiful.”

“Yes,” she moans, her voice almost inaudible, breaking at the last minute when I dive my fingers down again.

Nesta’s legs close around my hand as I tease her entrance with my finger.

“Open your legs for me, love,” I tell her.

She’s barely noticed closing them, I realize, as she spreads them again. A broken moan comes out of her again and it’s so different from all the others she’s given me that I feel my cock twitch against her back.

That, however, doesn’t escape her notice.

Nesta tries to reach me with her hand, but-

I press her closer. “No,” I almost growl against her ear, my wanting for her evident. “It’s you now.”

“Cassian-“

“Let me have you like this first,” I beg her. “Please.”

Nesta relaxes against me again, pulling her hand away. I stroke her again, so slow, and Nesta is letting out little breaths here and there, moving her hips slowly in time with my movements. And then, carefully, I ease a finger into her entrance.

She gasps loudly, arching her back for me. Her head is against my shoulder, her lips parted into an inaudible moan, as my finger slides in.

She’s clutching the arm that’s touching her. And for a second I think she’s going to tell me to pull away-

When she pushes down, dragging me knuckle-deep into her.

Nesta’s head turns on my shoulder, her lips against the side of my neck as I pull my finger back, yet not all way, just to push back in.

She bites her lip.

“Good?”

Nesta nods. 

“Let me hear you.”

“Yes.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

And the way she says it, too-

I’m rock hard against her.

Slowly, carefully, I push in and out, in and out, until Nesta is writhing again, until her gasps are heard, until I feel her breath moisten my skin. When she lets out a particularly loud moan, I insert another finger, making sure my thumb keeps stroking her at the same time.

I just watch her moan and writhe and gasp as I touch her. She’s so fucking beautiful-

And I tell her as much.

But Nesta turns her face to me and, without another word, kisses me.

I move my lips against hers as my fingers keep pumping in and out of her. Her hips can’t keep still, and when she rubs against me, I let out a moan against her shoulder.

With my free hand, I grab her behind the knee, and lift her leg to rest over the border of the tub, then my fingers fuck into her again and again and again, the new angle allowing me to fuck deeper, faster.

Nesta cries out against me, her teeth dragging over my throat, my jaw, lips tasting my skin as my hand brings her closer and closer to that edge-

She tumbles over.

Her hips lift off the tub, her legs tighten, and her whole body goes taut for a moment, until it relaxes underneath my touch.

Even after she’s almost sobbing, I keep stroking her, murmuring loving words into her ear, letting her know exactly how much I enjoy watching her unravel.

I tell her the filthiest things.

And I don’t stop.

Not until she’s groaning, pulling her leg off the border and letting it fall on the water. Not until she’s grabbing my hand and pulling it off her, the friction too much as she’s so sensible.

I stroke circles into her stomach and sides once more, willing her to rest. Nesta is panting, gently turning on her side and resting her head on my chest, her hand coming to caress my body.

“How are you feeling?”

Nesta leaves a kiss on top of my chest. She can feel how hard I am against her own body. She murmurs, “Like I could take a few more baths.”

I smile. “Does it still bother you?”

“Not as long as you hold me,” she says, resting her chin on my chest and placing a delicate kiss on my chin. “If I don’t think about it…it doesn’t occur to me. When you hold me…I just feel warm. It doesn’t feel like-“

“I know,” I stroke her hair gently. “You did it, Nes.”

“It feels too easy.”

“It won’t always be this easy,” I tell her, my knuckles grazing her cheek softly. “But it’ll get easier overtime. You’ll be able to take baths by yourself soon enough.”

“Will you join me for some, though?”

I chuckle against her, the rumble of my chest shaking the water. “Anytime you want, love.”

“I like it when you call me that,” she says quietly. And I’m so drunk off her, so fucking exhilarated to have some time to spend with her alone, like this, that I don’t grasp what she means. Looking up at me, she says, “Sweetheart. And love. I like it.”

“I thought you hated it when I called you sweetheart.”

Nesta shrugs, looking down at the patterns her fingers are drawing on my chest. The water still feels warm – probably because of the fire between us two. She says, “It might be growing on me.”

“Might?” I question, amused, as she looks back to me.

Nesta smiles. I’m in awe as I look at her.

I look down at that smile, trace it with my fingers. “You are so beautiful. This smile…” I whisper. “It’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

Her eyes soften as she stares at me. As she takes in the words. And I’m so profoundly in love with her that I can’t find it in myself to speak the words.

I’m choking up.

So many things I want to tell her. So many things that revolve around one single word-

We’re glowing.

Her and I – forged in completely different worlds, opposite worlds, enemy worlds. And yet she and I are the same. Fire carved out of the same volcano, drawn and bound to each other like equals are.

Nesta stares at me, her smile fading. And I’m hoping to the gods she understands. That she knows. Because I can’t force myself to say it now. I can’t get the words out of my mouth.

But they’re here. It’s here.

This is it.

“Nesta,” I whisper, gently tracing her cheek. “My Nesta.”

My heart.

She touches my wrist, letting her hand drag down my arm in a caress. Her eyes are stuck to me, and I see my own self reflected in them as our heartbeats beat together in perfect sync.

I’m heated. Warm and cold at the same time, shivering, trembling, as I stare at her, as I look into those depths of clear blue and feel myself drown.

It’s…like you’re one being.

I stop breathing.

A rubber band has been pulled too hard – and it snaps inside me, sending a tidal wave of emotion coursing through my veins at the thought, at that same word-

It’s waking up in the morning and feeling like the world makes sense

My heart.

My whole life.

“Cassian,” she murmurs.

And life makes sense again.

Life has purpose again.

It’s a bond stronger than any other thing I have ever known. 

I know she feels it – she has to. There’s no way-

I open my mouth and Nesta is wide-eyed, staring at me.

I open my mouth and I whisper brokenly, “Nesta, you’re my-“

She places two fingers over my lips.

Her eyes are wide and wild, filling up with tears. She feels so small and so strong in my arms, and I want to fall deeper into this abyss; I want to leap off the edge and keep falling

and falling

and falling

and falling

into her.

Nesta whispers, “Yes,” she nods, a corner of her mouth lifting as a tear falls down her cheek. “Don’t say it now. Don’t say it,” she takes her fingers away from me, lets her palm fall on my chest. She listens to my heartbeat, feels it running through her veins. “I want you to say the words when this is over. If we make it – I want to hear you say them. And I will say them back.”

I grasp her hand. “We will make it out of this,” I tell her, wiping her cheek with the back of my thumb. “Nesta, we will have time.”

“Promise me,” she whispers, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Promise me again.”

I seal that promise with a kiss and two and three and ten more.

Until her tears have dried.

Until that word shines brighter and brighter in my mind with each passing second.

Until Nesta is pulling away, smiling, touching her nose to mine.

“I want you,” she whispers to me, like she’s singing it. Nesta closes her eyes, whispers again, dragging the words out, “I want you.”

“I’m yours,” I whisper back, kissing her in between the words. “I’m all yours, sweetheart.”

Nesta pulls away slightly, not before letting her lips drag over mine for one more kiss.

Then she’s kissing down my chest, down to where the water touches.

I close my eyes, feeling myself getting heated again.

And groan as Nesta lets her teeth nibble on the centre of my chest, her hands at my sides. She murmurs against my skin, “Can I touch you?”

I look down at her.

“Where?”

She’s smiling like she wants to laugh. I’m fascinated. Then, slowly, Nesta drags her hand over me underneath the water – just a soft brush of her fingers and I’m ready again.

I inhale a shaken breath, parting my mouth. “Yes,” I tell her. “Yes.”

“Teach me.”

Gently, I take her hand, and let her position herself against my side, her head resting on my shoulder and my arm around her frame. I feel her take a breath, getting used to have her body deeper into the water, but then she’s looking up at me and I’m smiling and because I’m smiling she’s smiling and we’re both smiling-

“Teach me,” she asks again.

I oblige her, the beast inside me roaring deep. But I keep my movements slow, gently placing her hand at the base of my cock. Nesta looks down.

“Slowly,” I tell her, my eyes never leaving her face as I watch her watching me. “All the way down and squeeze at the tip.”

I let my forehead fall against hers as Nesta strokes me slowly. My eyes flutter close as her fingers skilfully drag up my member and squeeze ever so gently at the tip, taking it between her thumb and indicator.

I know for a fact that I’m not going to last.

But I teach her the ways of dragging it out – where to squeeze, where to press, where to rub. And Nesta soon has it under control, doing it just right.

Too right.

I hiss between my teeth as Nesta changes her pace, leaning my head down to take her lips. My tongue traces her bottom lip, the taste of her sending me further and further into oblivion. I moan against her mouth when her hand dives down to grasp my balls.

“Fuck,” I curse under my breath as one of her hands slide up to my wing, reaching the membrane and stroking it.

I twitch in her hand. And Nesta swallows my moan by taking my mouth once more. I feel myself getting there when she pulls away and whispers, her tone sultry, needy, making me ache everywhere. “I want to have you in my mouth. I want to taste you.”

I’m certain I’m dead when Nesta starts to move down my body.

I lift my hips.

And Nesta is still grasping me, still stroking ever so gently, and looking down at her as she lowers her head to lick up a stripe down the side of me almost undoes me.

My fingers are woven into her hair.

A string of colourful curses leave my mouth as Nesta licks the tip of my cock, her eyes sliding up to me. I grasp her hair tightly, struggling to breathe.

When she puts her whole mouth on me, I’m gone for good.

She doesn’t pull away when I come, instead Nesta just drags her mouth further down, taking as much of me into her mouth she can. And I try not to thrust into her mouth, but the way her tongue swirls on my tip-

Her lips are on my chest, licking and kissing and biting. I’m a panting mess, unaware that there’s a whole world outside.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmurs against my chest, kissing my scars.

“Come here,” I murmur.

Nesta slides up my body, and when she reaches me I take her jaw and touch my lips to hers. I tell her, “When we finish this war, Nesta Archeron, we’re going to get our own apartment, so I can have my head between your legs every fucking night.”

Nesta smiles, a soft giggle escaping her. I’m wonderfully joyous about that giggle. I want to keep replaying it in my head for the rest of my days. I want to keep hearing her do it. I want to be the reason behind it every single time.

“Who told you I want to live with you?”

“Wouldn’t it be pleasant to wake up most mornings with my mouth on you?”

Nesta scoffs.

“Hum?” I ask her, leaning in for a kiss. “Making you moan my name first thing in the morning,” I kiss her jaw, so gently. “Making you writhe in our sheets,” I move to her earlobe, taking it between my teeth. Nesta’s hands are on my face. “Making love to you everyday-“

“Stop,” she almost moans. “You’re making me excited and I-I can’t anymore. Too tired.”

I breathe a laugh against her, kissing her chin. “Well then,” I tell her. “Let’s rinse you off and get you to bed.”

In the shower, Nesta asks me to turn around, then her hands are on my hair, washing off the soap. I think I wouldn’t mind at all having a lifetime of this. Of having her turn around for me, having my own hands in her hair, scrubbing, then rinsing it off, leaving little kisses on her shoulder just to tease her.

I will not mind it at all.

When I wrap her up in my arms in our bed, I tell her, “Are you already asleep, Nes?”

Her head against my chest, moves slightly, and she makes a little sound under her breath that’s completely incoherent.

I smile, kissing the top of her head gently. “I love you very much, sweetheart.”

She does not move.

Her soft breathing is everything I can focus on. The slow, calm heartbeat is what keeps my own heart alive and well. I hold her close, stroking her back, and whisper into her hair, “You’re my everything, Nes. I will buy us time. I promise, my love. My heart,” I kiss her once, very gently, and the word that comes out of my mouth completes my whole entire life. “My mate.”

***

Nesta

The night is colder than I expected.

I look over my shoulder. See Cassian turning on the bed, still snoring, unaware of the erratic beating of my heart. Of the nightmares still playing on my mind, over and over again.

There are still a couple of hours ‘til morning. I hope he gets to sleep the whole night again. He needs the rest.

I sigh quietly, looking up at the stars, my loose hair blowing with the winter breeze. I look up at the bright stars, hoping for a quiet distraction. Hoping sleep will find me soon. Hoping that when I go back to bed I’ll only dream of my mate holding me and nothing else. Hoping this war doesn’t kill us all. Hoping…hoping. Just hoping.

I hope some more as the skies get darker and darker.

***

Cassian

I wake with a jolt.

My mind is chaos.

My mouth is dry.

My chest…it pains me.

Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong.

I turn in the sheets, wrapping my arm around-

Nesta.

I jump off the bed, dizzy with the suddenness of my standing.

“Nesta?” I call.

Silence.

The morning breeze hits my face. I turn my head.

The balcony doors are opened, dark curtains lifting with the chill.

I walk out, a pair of trousers on, and look around the balcony, almost expecting her to be sitting on that chair, reading.

She’s not.

And then-

My heart falls out of my chest at the scent I don’t recognize. And now-

Now I know what’s wrong.

I scream, “Nesta?!”

I run down the stairs. Dawn has barely broken, everyone is still asleep, but something is wrong, my chest-

“Nesta? Nesta?”

“Cassian?”

It’s Lucien.

I turn to him. “She’s not here.”

“Who’s not here?” He grumbles, rubbing his eyes.

Rhys.

Rhys.

Rhys.

I bang as hard as I can.

I crack that mental wall open.

Rhys, please. Rhys. Someone took her. Nesta. Someone took her.

I run around the house, attempting to pick off her scent-

Lucien walks behind me, “Cassian, what are you-?”

“Someone took her!” I growl, flipping a table out of the way. It shatters against a glass jar, a million broken pieces falling on the floor.

Rhys. Rhys. Please. Rhys.

Cassian-

THEY TOOK HER.

Someone took her. My mate. My mate.

Rhys is screaming inside my mind, but I don’t hear him, I can’t hear him, I can’t hear anything but the ringing in my ears, I can’t feel anything but the ache in my chest and the cuts on my knees as I sink down into those broken pieces on the floor.

A pair of hands lift me.

“Cassian.” 

“Cassian, where’s Nesta?”

“Cassian.”

Black spots adorn my vision. I can’t decipher who’s talking to me, how many people are there, but suddenly I feel a hand colliding with my cheek.

My eyes focus on Eris.

“What the fuck are you talking about? Who took her?”

Then Feyre. Rhys. Azriel. Lucien.

My mate. My mate.

Her scent isn’t anywhere.

“They took my mate,” I blurt out over and over. “…balcony.”

Rhysand and Feyre run upstairs.

Lucien and Azriel are holding me up.

Nesta. Nesta. Nesta.

I’ve never been so afraid in my life.

“She’s not here.”

It’s Feyre.

“Her scent is gone.”

It’s Eris.

And then Azriel lets me go. It’s like a shock wave runs through us all as we realize-

“Elain,” murmurs Azriel.

“I need to go,” I mutter to no one in particular, flaring my wings.

Feyre’s voice is panicked as she says, “Stop, Cassian. Don’t go anywhere, we’ll-“

“Elain’s gone.”

Azriel is covered in darkness, shadows whirling around his body like a dark phantom. He’s on his knees, his head covered by his hands.

Lucien starts. “No, I would’ve-“

“She’s not in her room,” Azriel spits, glaring.

Silence.

And then everyone’s shouting all at once.

I don’t hear anything.

I don’t hear anyone as I run and leap off the balcony, flying up into the skies.

Nesta.

I will find her.

My mate.

I will find her. I will find my mate.

Even if it’s the last thing I do.


	9. Chapter 9

Nesta

Darkness surrounds me.

It embraces me like an old friend, clutching tight like it hasn’t seen me in a while. Then it wraps itself in my bones, digging into my heart – its new home. It whispers in my ear, tauntingly, seductively, telling me to strike true, to swallow this whole world and its entire universe up.

Darkness devours me.

It finds itself in my veins, painfully coating the skin from the tips of my fingers to my elbows. I feel its steady rhythm drumming in my ears, governing every fibre of my being and planting its imperial flag on my body.

Darkness caresses me.

Who are you? It sings to me – a dark lullaby that keeps me asleep, yet alert.

I am your queen, I tell it.

You are nothing.

No –

I command it. I rule it. I am its owner. I am its queen –

You are nothing, it repeats, slow and sweet – a single murmur in all that nothingness. You control nothing. This power does not belong to you. You are a thief.

No. No –

Weak.

Control it. Fight it.

Give it back to me.

This power is mine to wield.

Darkness drowns me.

But you are nothing.

I am nothing.

You are nothing.

I claw and kick and buck again. I fight against that darkness, against that horrid, unending power –

I am nothing. 

But in the end

Darkness becomes me.

***

Cassian

This emptiness kills me.

With each passing second that she’s gone I feel my strength falter, I feel life being sucked out of me. My heart struggles to beat in my chest. My lungs find it difficult to keep working. And I try to look inside myself as my mind screams for that glimmer of feeling – of her.

Empty. Empty. Empty.

Nothing but emptiness.

Where are you, sweetheart. Give me a sign, love. Nesta. Nesta.

I feel no trace of her scent in the skies, even as I fly over the whole of Velaris – it’s like she’s vanished out of thin air. No –

She’s not here.

Because I would’ve detected her scent for miles and miles if she was. I would’ve felt that…that tug deep inside me, leading me to her.

I have no sense of myself as I turn around and fly to the House of Wind. I have no sense of myself as I land on the main balcony, pass my family and ignore their shouts, and go straight to that fucking rat.

A punch to the stomach sends him flying backwards into the wall, my movements too quick to be predicted, too strong to give him time to properly reach for his power.

I will kill him –

He slides down the wall, and I watch him fold over himself as Rhysand steps between me and him.

“Cass,” Rhys shouts. “Cassian, look at me!”

I’m growling, I realize.

My teeth are bared at my brother, I realize, ready to strike if he doesn’t move out of the way.

I don’t care. I don’t care. My mate-

“We will find her,” Rhys says, touching my face. “Look at me, damn it!” I do, breathing hard, my bones shaking. “We will find her. Eris didn’t take her.”

“I’m getting real fucking tired of being pinned and beat down in this fucking Court,” Eris snarls from the floor.

Lucien makes no move to help him.

And Azriel-

Azriel paces around near the balcony rail looking over our city with desperate eyes, like he wants to do nothing but look for Elain, too. I don’t know if they have figured something out, I don’t know if they have a plan, an idea of where they might be, but-

“How do you know?” I growl in Rhys’ face. I point to Eris. “Who else could’ve taken her? No one can fucking winnow inside this house-“

“Cass,” Mor holds my arm. Pushes me to her. Away from Rhys and away from Eris. “He didn’t take her. Nesta’s scent is not on him. Not even Elain’s. Calm down. Think.”

I’m not comforted by her words.

I want my mate.

“Dagon took them,” Eris spits blood onto the floor, clutching his stomach as he glares up at me. “If he managed to get his hands on some faebane – that could’ve eliminated the spell on this house. Make him immune to it. So he could’ve perfectly taken them in the middle of the night.”

“That’s what you smelled on the balcony, Cass,” Feyre says, dry tears in her cheeks. “It’s faebane. Or something else.”

I go silent for a long time. I will myself to react, to think clearly-

“How did none of us wake up?” Mor says to no one in particular. “How did we not detect it? Surely, they would’ve screamed-“

“Sleeping tonics?” Feyre guesses, her hands shaking even as she holds on to Rhys. She looks up at him. “Promise me we’ll find them.”

Rhys looks in pain as he stares down at his mate. Gently, he kisses her forehead. “We will find them, Feyre.”

We all notice Lucien’s fixed gaze on Azriel then. We all notice Az turning to him, slowly, wings flaring irritably behind him. As if sensing Lucien’s changed composure. As if daring him to say what he has to say.

Lucien says to Azriel, in an insufferably calm, dry manner, “Did you not notice Elain being dragged out of your bed?”

Shadows explode around my brother as he looks to Lucien. The latter simply leans against the wall, arms crossed. For a second I’m furious at the implication in his words, livid at the tone he uses with Az, but-

What if it had been me?

What if Nesta hadn’t chosen me and chosen someone else? Would I be pretending with all my might and strength to not care? To look away at the facts that were right in front of me? To ignore it all with just a weak jab to the male she had chosen over me?

Lucien meets my brother’s gaze, unflinching, but even though he looks calm, collected, I see the tears he’s blinking back, the trembling he’s trying to hide and the complete madness behind that façade that must be taking over his whole being. His own mate disappeared. And even though he sworn off her… 

There will always be that tug. Always.

Azriel says to him, a low growl escaping him, “I wasn’t in her chambers.”

Lucien says nothing else. He falls into a dead silence as he turns to look at the mountains on his side, ignoring the rest of us. Azriel does the same.

I look to Eris.

And I make a point to smell him from where I stand. Nothing. Nothing of faebane, of Nesta. Nothing but smoke and ash and woods.

I still want to throw him out of this damn balcony or smash his vile head into the stone.

“Is he planning to use them, then?” I growl at him. “Your brother?”

“I warned you it would be possible,” he lets out, leaning on the railing to raise himself up. “None of us expected faebane to have this sort of effect-“

“What if it’s not faebane?”

We all look to Feyre.

“What do you mean?” Asks Mor. “What else can it be?”

“Not ignoring the fact that he may still have the faebane,” Feyre says. “But what if he has something more? Something that makes him so powerful that he can break a spell that was created more than five hundred years ago?”

We did not have enough time to ask for an antidote for faebane – or Feyre and Rhys would’ve already called for Nuan or Thesan. Right now we were fighting this enemy on our own.

“But we don’t know what that is,” Eris says. “And attempting to guess will only waste us time. I say we go for your first suggestion – and pick all the damn flowers we can before we run out of time.”

I growl at him – at the urgency I find in his tone. Because I know it’s not just aimed at his throne. He’s not only anxious to get to his crown.

He’s anxious to get to Nesta.

My Nesta.

“What the fuck is he talking about?” I look at everyone. “What flowers?”

Feyre turns to me. “Pink weeds that grow near the riverbanks – they’re all over our Court. They helped heal Rhys when he was struck with the faebane arrows. It was the Suriel who told me.”

“It will not erase the effect of faebane,” Rhys explains. “But it will help.”

I’m about to open my mouth, but then we all look to the double doors, to the tiny figure walking towards us with impressive authority – and Amren says, “High Lady, High Lord – Summer’s army is ready. The Commander of the Summer Court is at our borders, awaiting orders.”

Varian.

They have already taken the precautions, called the allies, while I was looking for her-

For the first time this morning, Rhys looks hopeful. “Thank you, Amren.” Then he looks to me. “Cass, I need you as my Commander right now. If we are to save Elain and-and your mate, we need you steady.”

Something snaps inside me at the word.

I take a breath, straightening my spine. “You have me.”

Rhys nods. “Good,” he then turns to Feyre and Mor. “Nothing of Winter, yet?”

Mor shakes her head, dropping her eyes.

“No matter,” Feyre says. She looks at me, “Collect Keir’s army and our own, Cass. We’ll move right now. There’s no time to waste.”

We all look at the rat.

“You know I’ll personally detach your head from your body if you decide to side with your brother and betray us, don’t you?” Mor murmurs to him, slow and twisted and deadly quiet.

Eris stares at her. “My brother wants my last breath, Mor. I want my crown. I will not betray you.”

“We’ll see about that,” Amren says, eyeing him with more than a thousand years’ worth of contained fury.

“So what’s the plan now?” I ask, stopping my hands from shaking by crossing my arms over my chest.

Feyre takes a breath and looks to Rhys before turning her eyes to me – to us, “Now – we march for Autumn.”

***

Eris

Two lives taken.

My stomach turns at the words ringing in my head.

The Illyrian leathers fit me perfectly, protecting all the vital parts of my body – though I know it will not be enough against Dagon. There’s still something we’re missing. Something important – something he has.

There’s no way my bother would risk this war – to have the courts turn on him for kidnapping two members of the Night Court. Our armies weren’t that numerous in Autumn, especially not after the war with Hybern. So if Dagon kidnapped the Archeron sisters-

He has to have a trick up his sleeve, for they aren’t enough for him. Elain’s visions do not follow any specific patterns; they do not come to her by command. And Nesta, though dangerous, barely had time to learn how to wield her own powers.

Will he kill them?

Two lives taken.

No – though a weak and small one they are still an advantage to him. They are leverage. They are his way out if things go to shit.

And as long as that’s true – they will remain safe. She will remain safe.

Although I’m not sure for how long, exactly.

I can only hope I reach her before it’s too late.

The Night Court armies form a perfect triangle of more than a hundred thousand soldiers, each one wearing a pink weed inside their black scaled amour. A large portion of the Summer Court army stands alongside them, in similar armour – though their leathers give off a strange sea-green sheen, along with their spears. Together they surpass the numbers of Autumn army. But they surely have faebane, and if they aim it right-

Dear gods.

I’m not going to have an army to rule when this is over.

“Avoid the casualties of Autumn soldiers if you can,” I tell Rhysand, looking over at him. “I know a lot refused to fight today, not deeming Dagon to be their rightful High Lord, but the ones who do-“

“We will do whatever we can,” Rhys says sharply. “But if they come for us, for my family, I will not hesitate.”

“We have enough numbers to blow your entire court to ashes,” the bastard shoots from behind us, standing in front of his own army, siphons gleaming in the pale morning light. “Remember that, Rat.”

“You’ll do good to remember not to speak to your superior when you see that crown on my head,” I look behind me. “Bastard.”

“Stop it,” Feyre snarls from beside her High Lord. “Both of you. Remember our goal. We get past their defences – all of us. And we march for the manor.” Feyre looks ahead, where, behind the trees, the Autumn border stands – its path still burned down from my own fire, a few days ago. “Our armies will hold the soldiers. Inside, we take them out ourselves.”

“At least give me a chance to talk to my own people first before you draw blood,” I tell her. “Like we discussed.”

“They will not listen to you,” Amren – the tiny ancient thing – drawled behind Rhysand.

“Not a chance,” Mor adds right next to her, sword at her hip.

I roll my eyes. “Thanks for the faith.”

Lucien and the spymaster stay quiet on either side of us – as far away from each other as possible. I can’t possibly blame them. I, myself, would like nothing more than to twist the bastard’s neck.

But there are things to do.

“I know they took your sisters,” I say to Feyre. “But they are still my people.”

“They obey your brother,” Feyre glares at me, “who put my sisters in danger. I don’t care who they are. If they’re in the way between my sisters and me – I will kill them all.”

“That’s not part of our deal-“

Rhysand suddenly turns to me.

The most powerful High Lord, indeed. It’s the first time he shows his real face – the terrifying, thunderous beast beneath the midnight eyes, behind the calm composure.

He growls in my face. “Our deal changed the moment Elain and Nesta were taken, Eris. You heard my High Lady.”

I stare right back, unflinching. Though some natural instinct inside me tells me to run, urges me to stand out, to stay safe.

“You want your crown, Eris?” Feyre drawls, Illyrian wings spreading behind her. “Help save my sisters – and if they’re alive and safe you will have it, along with our undying support. Until then – keep your damn mouth shut.”

I start. “My soldiers will think I’m turning against my court, against them-“

“Make your pretty little speech then,” Mor says before Feyre has a chance to. I turn to her. “And pray they’ll listen.”

Well, then.

Fine.

I turn ahead. Feel everyone’s eyes on me. Slowly, I dip my chin and say to them, “Let’s march.”

***

My eyes travel along the long line of terrified soldiers.

My soldiers.

Or they used to be.

The Night Court’s armies stand alongside Summer meters behind me. They do not move as I step forward.

Ash arrows covered in faebane point to my chest as I walk that leaf-covered field. These, I remember, used to be lands I was proud of. The tones of orange and yellow and red around me, the drooping branches of the naked trees and grey skies – I was born here. Raised here. I was loyal to this land.

Now I’m in a weird limbo – standing against it and yet fighting for it in the same breath. Willing to kick my brother off the throne to take his place since it is the only thing that will guarantee my survival.

Though looking at my own soldiers, some I recognize, as they point that faebane at me…I don’t know if I’m fighting a war I already lost.

I stop in place, in front of them. 

Then, slow, tentatively I cross my border.

I am no longer in the Summer Court. Autumn surrounds me.

No one moves, not a single breath is taken, as I set foot into my own territory. Not a single arrow is released from those shaky bows. Not one.

I relax my body, unafraid. And then I tell them, loud and clear. “We have not come to fight.”

Murmurs are heard from each side.

I ignore them all – and continue, “I have come to claim my throne. My brother Dagon kidnapped two emissaries from the Night Court. Give us the females and the Night Court armies will pledge their surrender.”

This army my brother placed on the border is a distraction. These soldiers are not fully healed from the war with Hybern, they do not want to be here. He’s planned this – he meant for us to fight them, to lose time.

The real threat is on the inside.

But still, I continue, amongst all the whispers, all the snarls and growls. “I am your rightful High Lord. And I demand to speak to your Commander.” I eye them all, my eyes memorizing each face. My whisper is deadly, “Now.”

A single figure steps out of the crowd. I do not recognize his face, never in my life have I seen this male. And yet he steps out of the soldiers with a confident stance, walking towards me like I don’t have more than a hundred thousand warriors behind me.

He does not bow.

“Word says you’ve changed colours,” he muses, looking down at the black Illyrian leathers I’m wearing.

Black instead of red – the Autumn colour.

“Who am I speaking to?”

“My name does not matter,” the Commander says, the sword in his hand shining in my face. “It’s you we’re worried about.”

“You don’t have a thing to worry about if you give us the females and let me get to my brother,” I tell him. “I have not come to kill my own people.”

He points with his fat chin behind me. “Your armies say otherwise.”

“Not his armies,” the bastard shouts from behind us, his voice echoing through the trees.

I refrain from rolling my eyes into the back of my head.

“They’re my insurance,” I say. “As you are my brother’s insurance.”

“We serve him.”

“You serve the wrong lord,” I correct, raising my chin. “I’m next in line for the throne. Prythian knows it.”

“You abandoned us,” the Commander mocks. “You killed your father and ran away to hide with the Night Court.”

“I did what it took to survive. To get here.”

“Bullshit.”

I smile. “Get out of my way,” I whisper calmly. “And let me through.”

He steps forward once. Says in my face, “No.”

Everyone stops moving.

I will myself to calm down, to stop the fire from spreading in my veins.

I smile wider, “You see, Commander, if I were my father or my brother Dagon, you and your soldiers would’ve already be food for the vultures.” I step away from him, pacing away, eyeing the soldiers – my soldiers. I speak to them now, “You know you will not win this fight. Look behind me. Even with the faebane, you will not win.”

We still don’t know where my brother got it, all that faebane. There is still a lot we don’t know.

“You will all lose your lives,” I continue. “My brother does not mind risking every single life here. He doesn’t care about you.”

“And you do?” Someone shouts from the line of Autumn soldiers.

“If I didn’t, you would all be dead already.”

Silence all around. Just the whisper of the wind through the trees.

I tell them, “I did not come to hurt my own people.” I repeat it again, “I did not come to kill my own soldiers. I want my crown. And I want Nesta and Elain Archeron. Nothing else. Give me that and none your lives will be endangered.” A long, long pause. And then I say, “Please.”

Each side is ready to strike.

Each side is ready to kill.

Neither one moves.

“What makes you different from your brother or your father?” The Commander sneers at me.

Calmly, I turn to him. “The fact that I’m not willing to slaughter you just as a means to an end is not enough for you? I’m twice the male they’ll ever be. I am not interested in having a war today or tomorrow or any time soon, soldiers. I want to live. And I know you want the same.”

No one speaks.

I step forward, all my movements calm, precise. “Join me.”

The moment I finish those words, an arrow is let loose.

In my direction.

I lift a hand – burn it to ashes. The wind carries the dust away.

I look towards the source of the arrow I had expected. Because I saw the way the soldier had changed footing. The determination shining in his eyes.

We all watch those ashes fade away to nothing.

“The next arrow that you throw,” I tell him. “Will mean your death.”

His legs shake.

I look around. “March against me and they will have no choice but to kill you all,” I say. “March with me and I will make sure you will never see another war in your lives.”

Murmurs all around my Court. 

I’m shaking – though I don’t show it. I’m scared – though I don’t show it. I’m taking a deep, slow breath, because I’m thinking this is too easy. This is too easy because they’re listening to me, and I never expected that to happen.

A soldier drops his bow to the floor.

He walks forward, despite the looks he receives.

“Soldier,” the Commander says. “Get back into place.”

The soldier ignores him.

His golden red curls bounce as he walks to me, unarmed. The Commander shouts his orders, but they are left unheard. As he nears me I can see he’s young, very much so. Almost too young to be in this front.

We lost a lot of soldiers in the previous war.

His voice shakes as he says to me, “I lost my father in the war, and my mother long before that.”

I’m silent – we’re all silent as we listen.

“You saved my brother,” he tells me.

I’m struck.

I stare at him, at the deep brown eyes – too young, too innocent for this world yet.

“In the war,” he continues, eyes filling up with tears. “He fought with you against Hybern that day. Two Hybern soldiers got him – and…and they were about to take the killing blow when you killed them both with just one strike. Twisted their necks at the same time. In the middle of that battlefield. You picked up my brother’s sword and gave it to him. You-You said, Keep on going, soldier. You said that to my b-brother. He lives because of you. I have him because of you.”

The memory isn’t fresh in my mind, but for a split second I see it clearly – the same golden curls but dirty with blood, the frightened dark eyes, the panting and tears, a broken thank you, my Lord.

I’m conscious of everyone staring. I’m conscious of the surprise, the disbelief.

“It was nothing,” I manage to say.

The young one shakes his head at me. “It was everything, my Lord. Thank you.”

And he gets on his knee, bowing his head. My heart almost beats out of my chest. I open my mouth to speak but no words come out.

He says, eyes on the ground, “My brother refused to be here. He’s currently being held prisoner by your brother. I humbly ask you to save him one more time. Save us from your brother.” He unsheathes his sword, places it on the ground over my feet. “I pledge my life to you, High Lord.”

After that, more soldiers drop their bows. One after the other, they surrender – though I believe more than a few do it not because of their loyalty to me, but because they see that they have no other choice now. Their lives depend on the lowering of their heads in my direction.

The Commander screams, “Stop! This is an outrage!”

They do not listen.

Every single one of those soldiers bow to me.

Every arrow is dropped.

Except one.

But this one I’m not as quick to see. Not as it flies my way – aiming right for my chest.

***

Nesta

I wake with a scream that pierces my ears.

A calling of my name.

My head feels heavy, too heavy for me to lift – but I manage to open my blurry eyes and, though I don’t see anything for a while, I can tell that I’m not where I’m supposed to be.

I’m not in the balcony of Cassian’s room. 

I’m not in his bed, wrapped up in his warmth.

I’m in a cold, dark place, my body freezing and muscles aching from my awkward sitting position on a stone floor. It smells humid in here. Like a secluded cage at the bottom of a dry, empty ocean.

And – that scream, again.

“NESTA.”

I raise my head weakly.

My eyes finally focus on a tear-stained Elain, wrapped in chains, sitting opposite to me.

“NESTA-“

Elain.

Elain-

I start, pushing on my own chains, writhing on the floor-

“Elain,” I gasp, my voice hoarse, my breathing difficult. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know where we are. I don’t know- “Elain, I’m here. I’m here. What hap-“

“Good, you’re awake.”

I look towards the sound of that unfamiliar voice.

And I recognize him instantly.

The missing pieces start to come together in my mind as my head snaps to look around, taking it in all at once – we’re in some kind of cell room, large enough to fit an army. Then-

I try not to scream.

I try not to sink into that fear. Give in to it.

That strange singing voice I heard-

You are nothing.

That power. That threat. That same haunting presence-

The cauldron stands on a dais at the end of the large room, the only source of light being the candles along the stone walls. Its water bubbles and thrashes, growling like a real life predator. I try to move myself, to crawl to Elain, but find that I’m stuck. The metal chains that hold me are unbreakable, my strength is no match.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

“Please,” Elain whispers to him. “Don’t do this.”

Dagon smiles down at my sister. Sentries with arrows aimed at us start coming in, standing guard. And I can’t, for the life of me, conjure any kind of power. It’s asleep inside me, ignoring my calling.

“I will not hurt your sister,” he says gently. His voice is surprisingly soft. “Or you. I just need you to cooperate with me.”

I growl at the sentries pointing those arrows at my sister’s back. I growl at the faebane I detect.

“Nesta,” Dagon says. “Play nice, love.”

“You fucking piece of shit,” I snarl. “How did you take us? What do you want?”

“Slow down, beautiful. You’re unsettling the cauldron-“

“The hell with your fucking-“

“Nesta,” Elain whispers brokenly. My head snaps to her. “Please, stop. Listen to him.”

I’m without words.

My mouth goes dry at her face.

“What do you want?” I tell him, my eyes unmoving from my sister’s face. “Did you hurt her?”

“No,” Dagon says.

“He didn’t hurt me, Nesta,” Elain sobs quietly.

Looking at her, I beg to differ.

“If you touched her-“

“I did not lay a hand on your sister,” he tells me, walking towards me. I refrain from crawling backwards. Couldn’t anyway – even if I tried. “Two of my soldiers took you. They had orders to be gentle.”

“How?” I spit, turning to him.

Dagon smiles. It’s a terrifying sort of smile. I realize, as I stare at him, that he looks nothing like Eris. Still handsome, still wielding that beautiful gracefulness typical of the fae, but every single trace of him – I see Beron. In the curve of his mouth, in the tilt of his chin. Eris and Lucien must’ve taken after their mother instead.

But I feel a strange pull towards him. Something inside me clicks and ticks at his presence. That rooted, sleeping power deep within…it calls out to him.

Like we’re the same.

“I’m going to tell you a story,” he says, squatting before me.

There are scars on his face – scars that weren’t there after the war. They tell me his search for the cauldron did not go as planned; wasn’t as easy as he probably hoped it would be. How he managed to find Miryam and Drakon’s island…I have no idea.

“I always disagreed with giving the cauldron to those two,” he starts, looking at me. His gaze unsettles me. “The cauldron belongs in Prythian. To the seven High Lords. But no one heard me in that meeting. No one asked my opinion – because they had my father’s.”

I stay silent, swallowing down my anger, my fear, my confusion.

“I knew I needed another tool, a stronger one, if I were to win my throne,” he tells me. “You see…odds were not in my favour. So the cauldron was my way out.”

“And where do we come in?” I ask with clenched teeth. “Let me guess – you’ll trade our lives for your crown.”

He eyes me for a second. Tells me, “I have something else planned for you, Nesta Archeron. But we’ll get to that in a second.”

He’s amused. Calm. He thinks whatever plan he’s concocted will surely work. He has no fear of the armies coming for him. Of course. With the cauldron-

With the cauldron he can obliterate them all.

I want to vomit.

“After my brothers and I retrieved the cauldron, killing Miryam and Drakon on the way, we brought it here. You’re looking at me strange – yes, me and my two brothers had an alliance. And I betrayed them as soon as I arrived. Cut their throats in their sleep. Indeed. It was done quickly. Easy enough. But, as you know, I have one more brother to worry about – and this one isn’t as stupid as the others.”

He laughs then. Like a mad person.

“No, Eris is smart. If my father was cunning…Eris is something else, something more. Deadlier, too. I was relieved when he killed out father. Took that out of the way and I did not have to worry about the fucking tool. Saved me some time as well, gave me a distraction to sail the oceans in search for that island. It was stupidly easy to find,” he grins again, wide and filled with madness. “Did you know, Nesta, that it’s right next to Vallahan? Invisible at first – but faebane makes it visible. How great is that? Yes, indeed-“

“Where did you get the faebane?”

Yes. Yes I was trying to buy time. To keep him talking while I searched for that unending power deep within me. I needed that darkness right now. I needed the beast to show its face, its claws.

“Hybern, of course. We ransacked the territory before sailing to the island.”

“Just you and your brothers? Did no one stop you?”

“My dear, Hybern is in shambles. The war destroyed it. They have no king, no rule, nothing. The faebane was relatively easy to find.”

I search my mind for questions that need answering, but Dagon beats me to it.

“After I killed my brothers I crowned myself High Lord,” he says, eyes travelling all over my body. I want to spit on his face. “My people did not revolt, of course, since Eris ran off to your little Court and was found to be nothing but a traitor.”

“Aren’t you still scared of him? Your brother? He will come for you.”

“I know he will,” Dagon smiles. “I’m hoping for it, my dear.”

“Don’t call me-“

“Did you break his heart at last?” He asks me, cocking his head to the side. He’s smiling like I’ve just told the funniest joke in the world. “Did you shatter him into a million pieces? Destroy what little was left of him?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Every one of us knows my pathetic brother wanted you the moment he laid his eyes on you,” he says. Then his eyes travel along my body once more – to my waist, my breasts. They linger there. Fucking prick. When I get my hands on you- “It’s not hard to figure out why,” he smirks. “Hell, if I wanted you for a while. But then I saw what your pretty little hands could do and-well, I was not convinced.”

“Why am I here? How?”

“I dove into the cauldron.”

My breath catches in my throat. I stare at him – at the smiling face, the mad eyes, the…the strange presence. That humming inside my ears gets louder and louder, until I’m sure I can feel something coming from him, too. That same thrumming, that same…power.

He’s cauldron-made.

“How are you alive?” I ask.

“The cauldron has the ability to do a great many things. Deadly things. And…if you’re nice to it, if it deems you worthy, then it is nice to you, too. All it takes is a sacrifice. That was Miryam and Drakon.”

My stomach turns again. At the thought-

They’re dead.

“You’re insane,” Elain whispers from behind him.

Dagon ignores her, as if he hasn’t heard a thing. His eyes are glued to me. “You feel it don’t you? That same power coursing through my veins. Yes, I lived. And the cauldron gifted me with new abilities. With a click of my fingers, I can make you, or anyone else, do as I say.”

No.

It’s not possible, it doesn’t make any-

Dagon leans in. Whispers, “Kiss me.”

A snap of his fingers.

I’m happy.

I’m floating somewhere else, in a hazy cloud, comfortable and sweet and loving. No more screams, no more sobs, no more anything – but Dagon.

I lean forward and take his lips.

His hand is on my neck, tracing idle circles on my skin right over my pulse. Dagon deepens the kiss and I open for him, letting his tongue taste me, claim me.

A snap of his fingers.

He’s smiling against my lips.

Elain is screaming.

I push myself away, pushing and trashing against him, my legs kicking at his chest-

I turn my head in time to vomit on the stones.

I huff, my mind blank, my memories mixing together.

“Oh, cmon, beautiful. I bet it wasn’t that bad,” he laughs.

My harms shake behind my back as I slowly, so slowly, turn my face to him. My eyes promise him death, for putting his hands on me, for frightening my sister-

And it is death that I will give him.

Find that terror inside yourself. Relive it. Amren said to me once.

I can’t relive that again.

Fear is what makes you strong. Fear wakes the wolf.

“You will die,” I declare, raising my chin at him. “You will die at my hands, you sick monster.”

“Do you see now how I got you here without a peep?” He smiles.

“Please,” Elain begs.

“Elain,” I tell her. “It’s okay.”

“So here’s what I want from you, beautiful,” he says. “I want you to get in that cauldron.”

“No.”

“Nah uh, listen to me, now. Your powers…they’re a huge advantage to me. But what the cauldron cannot do, however, is transfer one’s power to me. It’s a shame, indeed. But I can’t let you run around with that amount of death in your hands and risk having you turn against my own powers. You see, I can’t rely on them to prevent yours. You’re strong, too strong. So I have to remove your darkness.”

“No,” Elain whispers. “NO, PLEASE-“

“Hush,” Dagon tells her gently, barely looking over his shoulder before turning to me again. “You will not die, Nesta, dear. You will just become mortal again. Hopefully.”

Elain’s sob reaches my ears.

All I can see is Cassian.

Mortal.

“Isn’t that a good deal?”

“What will happen to Elain?”

“Your sister will be treated fairly with me. I only want her visions. I will not harm her.”

Lies lies lies lies.

“I only need her powers to make sure I live,” he says. “I’m sorry, Nesta, dear. But it’s what I have to do.”

Mortal.

I will be mortal.

Dagon takes a good look at me. He says, sympathetic, fangs gleaming in the candlelight. “Isn’t that what you wanted, Nesta? To be normal? You hate us. You hate what you are, don’t you? I can give you a way out.”

“Nesta,” Elain murmurs. “Please, please, don’t listen to him.”

Mortal.

Finally.

I look up at him. “Will you promise not to harm my sister?”

He gives me his fake, meaningless word. “Yes, I promise.”

“Will you let me go free? To my world?”

“NESTA-“

“Yes,” he says. “Of course.”

I take a while to respond. I think and think and think some more.

And then I come to a decision. “Make me mortal.”

Elain is wide-eyed, shock flooding through every pretty, tear-stained feature.

Dagon smiles at me. “It’s almost tempting to keep you as a mortal,” he traces a hand along my cheek and I don’t stop him. Mortal. Mortal. Normal. “You are, indeed, the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. Enchanting. You and I would be great friends if fortune had smiled at you before.”

I lower my head. A wolf defeated.

Dagon takes my chin between his fingers. Makes me look at him, “You will abandon your sisters, but I’m giving you the life you want, aren’t I, Nesta?”

Hesitantly, I nod. I whisper brokenly, “Yes.”

I don’t dare to look at Elain, even though she can see the shame in my face at the words. “Yes,” I tell him again. “You are.”

“No more bowing to a Court that isn’t your home,” he whispers. “No more pain.”

I close my eyes. “Do it.”

He smiles wider, opens his mouth-

But someone comes through the door. A soldier looks up at him as Dagon gets on his feet. He turns his back to me.

His first mistake.

I look to Elain. An insignificant dip of my chin is all I offer her. Nothing the guards could detect but – something she notices. Elain hides her relief well. Her tears keep coming, obeying her.

“High Lord, the armies have arrived.”

“Good,” Dagon says. “How many dead?”

The soldier shifts on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. “Hum, High Lord, your…” he coughs. “Your army has bowed to your brother Eris.”

“That’s goo-“ Dagon stops. Turns. He looks at the soldier dead in the eye. He whispers, “What did you say?”

“Everyone…bowed to him. The soldiers did not attack. They are coming here right now-“

“Why didn’t you say so sooner, you baboon?!”

“High Lord, I-“

“Secure this door,” Dagon shouts at the sentries. “GO!”

But I’m suddenly filled with joy and hope and more fear.

They’re here.

Cassian.

But-with Dagon’s ability-

My brave, brave Nesta.

No.

I’m not a broken doll anymore.

I’d sworn to him – I’d sworn I’d fight. And fight I will.

I will rise.

“It’s time, Nesta,” Dagon says.

Indeed.

Who are you?

I am powerful.

You are nothing.

I am powerful.

You are-

Powerful. Unrelenting. Ruthless. Deadly.

And I will rise.

You control-

Everything.

Dagon looks into my eyes. Snaps his fingers. “Walk to the cauldron.”

He sets my hands free.

I stand. I rise.

I keep staring into his eyes, letting myself be drawn by that power, that darknes

I think of nothing.

I take a step forward.

***

Cassian

Eris is down.

The Commander who throws the arrow is pierced through by Varian’s spear not too soon after. Autumn, Night and Summer stare at each other, the tension clearly in the air, as the lord of Autumn spurs blood onto the brown earth beneath him, the ash arrow right on the side of his body.

He turns.

A collective breath of relief from the Autumn soldiers as they see that the arrow has not pierced their lord’s chest but – his arm. It’s on the inside of his arm.

But the faebane-

It will kill him.

Not one of us dare to move. But then Mor is walking towards him, slowly-

Amren grabs her arm, pushing her back.

Eris is lying on Autumn territory, if one of us dared to cross it…

Mor knows it too, for she turns her face away and stands her ground. She looks behind her – at me. I shake my head at her.

I’m surprised to see that amount of sadness in her eyes.

Lucien runs to his brother.

We watch as he kneels down before him. “Eris,” Lucien breathes. “You idiot. You stupid, fucking idiot-“

“Go save her,” Eris mumbles, coughing blood, arms trembling. Sparks of fire shoot out of him, weakened, and then it’s just embers. “Go save your mate.”

“Stop moving, you dumb prick,” Lucien bellow, pushing his brother rather harshly to the ground. Eris groans in pain, writhing on the ground. He murmurs something under his breath that I almost don’t catch but then – Just kill me.

“You’re such a drama queen,” Lucien shakes his head. But his own hands are shaking as they move to the arrow. If it’s for his brother or his endangered mate…I’m not sure. Maybe both. “Lie still.”

Lucien rips the ash arrow from his brother’s arm.

Eris screams.

It’s a scream that even I have to look away from. It makes the birds fly off the naked branches of the trees, their nests, and into the skies. It almost shakes the earth.

Lucien almost gags his brother with the pink weed we all wear. “Chew. And shut your fucking mouth.”

He calls for one of the soldiers. Hesitantly, the chosen soldier walks to him. Lucien gives him some instructions and then the male is giving Lucien a fresh bandage taken out of a small compartment in his bandolier. Emergency bandages.

Lucien wraps his brother’s arm with it. Shoves more pink weed into his mouth – and I almost laugh at the sight of Eris gagging on it.

“You’re fine,” Lucien says, gesturing carelessly as he finishes. “It’ll get out of your system soon enough, prick.”

Eris mumbles, “You’re the prick, you stupid ass-“

“Go fuck yourself,” Lucien growls.

“You go fuck yourself,” Eris growls back, attempting to move.

Lucien shoves him back down. “Keep still for five minutes, idiot. Let your powers heal your wound or you’ll bleed out, dick.”

As Eris lay there, they go back and forth with the name calling. It’s almost hilarious. I’d be smiling if I wasn’t anxious about Nesta and Elain.

I feel her close now. And the fact that she’s alive-

The feel deep inside me isn’t strong but – that connection. It’s there. I feel the small glimmer of it, shining in that ageless dark. I see it – I see her.

But I can’t feel her. Not yet.

I look towards the manor anxiously, awaiting my orders. All I want to do is run up there, ignore the bows and faebane, and kill Dagon myself. I need to get to my mate.

Rhysand looks to me, as if he can feel my agitation. He says, “It’s almost over, Cass. We’ll get them.”

Feyre eyes me too, nodding.

I swallow.

Soon enough, Lucien helps his brother up. Eris stands – weakened, but he’s standing. He wastes no time, for which I’m secretly glad.

“Let us through,” he says to his soldiers. An order. Not a question.

They disperse.

“Guard the border,” Eris says loudly. “Anyone who moves out of their position will be severely punished.”

No soldiers dare to move.

Eris – still alive, that motherfucker – stumbles his way through the woods that are his home. And we follow suit, our armies behind us.

And we march into the Autumn manor.

***

I sense her as soon as I step into that house.

My heart falls out my chest, my breathing picking up. I’m trying to contain myself in front of my soldiers, my family, but Nesta, Nesta, Nesta. She’s here-

And something else.

A presence. Dark, unrelenting, threatening.

Even Eris stops at the silence that greets us. At the emptiness, despite that strange presence looming over us.

He says, “Keep your guard up.”

I’m coming to take you home, sweetheart.

Nesta.

I call for her in the depths of me but – my voice dies in that darkness. That shining glimmer, that thin line between us is weak, too weak, even with our close proximity-

Fifty sentries wearing Autumn colours come through both sides of the grand staircase.

I almost scoff at the pathetic excuse for a guard.

“Swords at the ready,” I tell my soldiers.

Varian calls from beside me, “On my command.”

We look to each other.

Our whole army doesn’t fit in this house alone – soldiers flock the entrance outside, awaiting their orders. For now, we are more than enough to take these sentries.

Rhys’s wings flare behind him. Feyre and Mor show their fangs. At my right, Az is covered in shadows. One second he’s here. And another-

He’s right in front of them, shadows masking his body.

Me and Varian nod at each other.

We shout the order.

And then it’s a bloodbath.

***

Nesta

“Quickly,” Dagon urges me. “Go quickly.”

He’s looking towards the door – because he knows. He knows he wasn’t smart about this. He knows now that he should’ve never taken the time to play with his food. He knows he should’ve just thrown me in that cauldron – his second mistake.

I look towards Elain – two lives taken.

Not killed – taken. Captured.

I wonder if Elain had time to see if our lives were indeed taken, or just captured. Or both.

I don’t wonder for long.

Dagon pushes me towards that dais, snapping his fingers in urgency. I look towards it. Towards death.

I greet it like an old friend as I climb those small steps.

It’s exactly as I remembered it. From dreams and nightmares alike. The terrors in my mind are fresh. But I feel calm – I do not feel anything other than wild determination.

He snaps his fingers again.

And I feel calmer.

With each passing second, with each step I take, I remember what I have to do in my head. I recall the words.

My leg lifts-

The door bursts open.

I make the mistake to turn my head.

Eris comes in first, wide-eyed and a bandage at his arm. He looks like depths of hell – hands flaming, eyes blazing. And then-

Rhysand. Feyre. Morrigan. Amren. Varian. Azriel. Lucien. Flocked by soldiers.

Cassian.

I almost fall to my knees in front of that cauldron.

But almost as quick as they came in, Dagon holds out a panicked head and shouts, “STOP.”

A snap of his fingers.

They all still.

My heart pounds in my chest. No-

“Don’t move.”

He froze them all.

All.

With a snap of his fingers.

That smile makes its way back into his face. That calmness, that mocking joy is back.

I feel nothing, I sense nothing, I am nothing when Dagon turns his eyes to me.

Cassian is screaming my name.

Lucien is screaming Elain’s.

Feyre is crying, wide-eyed at seeing me so close to that cauldron.

Nothing is on my face.

Dagon is pleased with himself – with what he accomplished. Elain turns in her chains, watching me. In a voice as gentle as a cat scratch, Dagon says, “Go on, my dear.”

A snap.

I turn back to the cauldron. Watch its hazy waters twist and turn at my presence.

Thief. Thief. Thief.

I am your conqueror.

Lies. Lies. Lies.

You bow to me.

You are nothing.

I am not afraid.

Cassian. Feyre. Elain. My family-

Rhys. Mor. Amren. Azriel. My friends-

I am not afraid.

You-you are nothing-

A snap. Another snap.

“Nesta,” Dagon is bellowing now. I’m concentrated. That snap-it has no effect on me. “GET IN THE CAULDRON.”

Concentrate.

Concentrate.

I am its conqueror. Its queen.

He reaches me. Cassian is growling, twisting and turning without moving-

Dagon grips my arm hard. His nails dig into my skin as I stare at those waters. They’re freezing-

No.

They are warm.

Because I say they are.

“No,” I whisper.

Dagon starts. “What?”

I turn my face to him, so slowly. My body is on fire. Darkness spreads through my veins. I smile, “I said no.”

I hope for the moment he attempts to push me in. I wait for it.

But then-

“NESTA WATCH OUT-“

A rip in my skin.

On my back – where my heart lies.

The pain it-

I stop hearing.

I stop seeing.

I stop.

Two lives taken.

Well, then.

Dagon pushes me into the cauldron.

My last breath is enough. My last strength is enough.

I pull him down into the waters with me.

***

Eris

Nesta and my brother fall on the cauldron.

Nesta-

Nesta-

I think I might be screaming her name with everyone else.

But the moment my brother falls, spilling the water out of the cauldron, I’m able to move. We all are.

Cassian runs to the cauldron – I run right with him.

“STOP.” I scream. “CASSIAN, STOP.”

He doesn’t listen.

I put myself in front of him.

He shows his teeth, claws, wings flaring behind him as he pushes me aside. The moment his hand touches me, I burst into flames – burning him.

“STOP.” I scream in his face as he howls in pain. “LISTEN. LISTEN TO IT. LISTEN TO HER.”

He looks to the cauldron – to the growls that come out of it. The power that comes out of it.

It’s hers. All hers. Nesta – she’s not going down without a fight.

“She’s fighting it,” I tell him. “You can’t go there.”

“She’s my mate-“

“And she will die trying to save your sorry ass,” I say, extinguishing the fire on my skin. I take a breath, feeling my forehead dripping with sweat. “Trust her. She’ll live. Feel that power – it can’t die.”

He stares at me as if he’s never seen me before.

I unsheathe my sword. I tell him, “On your right.”

We both turn our backs to each other as two sentries attempt to get to the cauldron. The last of the males who were loyal to my brother – my people.

Cassian kills his opponent easily. I fight mine.

These are my people.

“Stop,” I urge the soldier. “Stop-“

He doesn’t stop.

Almost as if he’s…

Enchanted. Cursed.

I can’t kill my people.

“Stop,” I try again as I meet his sword move for move.

He doesn’t stop.

Cassian takes his sword, pushes me away and strikes true.

I want to barf on the floor.

We all stand there, in silence.

Lucien breaks Elain free of her shackles and she attempts to run to the cauldron-

Feyre catches her, “Elain, no.”

Elain fights her sister’s grip with all her might, but Feyre circles her wings around her body, her own face covered with tears.

Everyone is too shocked to move. No more sentries come.

The cauldron shakes and twists.

Cassian sinks to his knees in front of it. He’s praying, I realize. He’s asking the gods, the mother, to bring his mate back.

My heart hurts. My head hurts. My body is weak.

“She’ll live,” I whisper to him. “She has to.”

Cassian is crying.

I want to sink to my knees and cry with him.

***

Cassian

I have died.

Nothing is left of me as that cauldron goes still.

I hear screams and sobs behind me but I don’t turn to look. That pain-

Our bond is gone.

There’s nothing. She’s lost. She’s dead.

Nesta. Nesta. Nesta.

“Cassian.”

“Don’t touch me.”

I can’t live like this. I can’t bear this pain. I can’t live in a world where she doesn’t exist, where she doesn’t smile at me, where those blue eyes don’t look up at me, shining-

She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone.

I don’t know who touches me, but I shake them off. I sink to the floor, my forehead against the stones.

I let my tears run free.

I think I’m screaming.

I’m beating my closed fists on those stones until they are broken, until my hands are bleeding.

I promised you we would have time.

I never told you you were my mate.

Come back to me, sweetheart.

Come back to me, Nesta. My love.

“Come back to me,” I whisper to nothing. “Come back to me. I need you. I need you.”

She doesn’t answer.

Nesta. Nesta. Nesta.

This world-

It means nothing.

Life-

It means nothing.

Hollow. Empty. Nothing.

“Please, please, please.” I beg something, someone. “Please take me to her.”

Feyre and Elain scream their sister’s name. She’s gone.

She’s gone.

I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t good enough.

I’m sorry, sweetheart. I will find you. And we will have that time.

“Nesta,” I whisper to the stones below. I beg her to hear me, wherever she may be. “Come home.”

Silence.

Unending, painful silence.

I’m dead.

I let myself, the last strings of my being, fall on the floor, never to rise again.

Silence.

And silence.

And silence.

That’s all there is.

Until there’s more.

A thrumming.

Like war drums in the distance.

Slow, deep, increasing their speed.

It’s not real. It’s not real. She’s gone-

“Cassian.”

Eris. Eris whispers my name.

Touches my shoulder.

A rumble deep within me. An awakening.

No one is breathing as I open my eyes.

Slowly, I look up.

The cauldron is shaking again. I’m shaking right with it.

Then-

I start. My body reacts instantly. I pull myself up, looking towards those dark waters, black ink spilling onto the stone floor. A second. Two. Three. Four.

And then an explosion of darkness.

It flows through us like a tidal wave, pushing everyone in this room back. It rumbles again inside me, stirring my brain awake. The shadows fill the room – shadows like I’ve never seen before. Powerful and unending and unyielding.

Beautiful.

Monstrous.

Deadly.

A click inside me.

And I’m awake. I’m alive. Nesta-

The cauldron turns.

Two bodies come out, writhing on the floor.

The waters fall at my feet and I can’t move.

I look up and I can’t move.

I stare at her and I can’t move.

Nesta sinks her claws to the broken stones. Her teeth are bared, her hair the colour of the water, clinging menacingly to her mouth. She pants hard.

And she opens her depthless, black eyes.

Dagon spits water out of his mouth, breathing like he’s dying. He looks up at us, then his eyes turn to Nesta.

I’ve never seen anyone so afraid. So absolutely petrified. I’m not sure I’m breathing as Nesta raises herself up.

Nothing about her is human or Fae. Nothing.

Pure animal as she stared at Dagon. As she stares at us.

Black eyes fall to me. And then she’s moving.

Not to me – to Dagon.

Grabs him by his shirt and quite literally flings him off the dais like a doll. Her growl shakes the walls of this manor, of the world-

She walks to him. Slowly.

Her night gown clings to her. And when she speaks, I know it’s the darkness inside her that speaks, “You.”

Dagon attempts to scurry away from her but she’s too fast. Nesta picks him up with one arm, turns away from us and throws him back to the floor, breaking the steps of the dais.

He vomits blood.

Her skin is so pale. Too pale.

She walks towards him.

“KILL THEM-“ Dagon snaps his fingers uselessly. “KILL THEM-“

“No,” she says.

“I WAS GOING TO GIVE YOU WHAT YOU WANT,” he screams at her. “REMEMBER THAT.”

I can hear the smile in her voice as Nesta whispers, “I want this.”

Dagon screams, begging her, begging her to let him go. Let him live. Nesta does not listen. And we do nothing to stop her.

“You have no right,” Dagon cries.

Nesta giggles.

It frightens every single one of us.

It’s not a laugh. It’s the darkness singing.

She says, “If you dare to put your hands on me and think there are no consequences, then I have the right to slit your throat.”

“Please. Nesta-Please, I’m sorry-“

Nesta grabs him by the neck.

We hear a crack.

Two cracks.

Nesta tears him apart limb by limb.

His head is detached first.

Her hands are tainted black and red.

Shadows envelop her.

And then-

She rips his body apart like he’s nothing but a wood stick.

She throws his remains to the floor.

Steps back.

And falls-

Eris, closest to her, is the one to catch her before she hits the floor.

I’m instantly moving.

Eris gives her to me the second I kneel down. Her eyes are closed.

She isn’t breathing.

“Nesta,” I whisper.

Eris looks to her. Looks at me.

She’s caked in blood.

“Nesta-“

Slowly, slowly, her skin starts colouring. We both watch the blackness face from her arms, her hands, her fingers. The others stand in the other corner of the room, holding their breaths. Slowly, so slowly, she takes a breath.

I thank every star in the sky.

“Come back to me,” I tell her.

Her heart beats slowly – but it’s there. That heartbeat. That sound.

Nesta. My Nesta. Come back to me.

She opens her eyes.

And they’re blue.

Soft, pale blue – like the blue that appears just at that moment where the sun sets.

***

Nesta

I open my eyes to a pair of hazel ones staring down at me.

Cassian.

He’s here.

“My mate,” I whisper to him.

He laughs between his sobs, holding me to his body.

I think I’m smiling, too.

I think I’m smiling all the way to Velaris, and as we winnow back.

I think I’m smiling when Cassian doesn’t let me go, keeping me in his arms, even as he tells the servants he can very well take care of me.

I think I’m smiling as he washes me.

In the shower.

I’m weak to stand – but he holds me.

My mind is half-asleep, and I don’t realize anything else that’s going on in that House. I don’t know how long it’s been since what happened. Since I ripped Dagon’s body apart. I was there every step of the way, but there’s a part of that’s shocked at how easy it was for me to release that power, that darkness. I don’t think on it for long. Tomorrow-

I’m smiling as Cassian steps in the shower with me and just holds me.

He holds me for hours and days and years and centuries in that warm, soothing water.

We cry together.

But he never stops holding me.

“My mate,” he whispers to me.

I don’t know anything. I don’t know where my sisters are. I only know they’re safe. I don’t know how long I have before I have to face what I did, tell them what I went through, what happened in the cauldron.

For now, I let Cassian hold me. I let him drive away that darkness.

“My mate,” he whispers over and over against my face, lips touching my cheeks, wiping every tear, pushing away any bad thoughts.

For now – this is everything. For now I can rest.

For now.

For now I’m home.


	10. Chapter 10

Nesta

I tell them everything.

It takes me more than two hours to explain to them all how Dagon orchestrated our kidnapping. To make sense of the jungle that is my mind and tell them, detail by detail, what his plans were and how they came to fail. To finish reliving the terrors and all the anguish, in order to at least try and give them a sense of what happened when I fell into that cauldron. 

I tell them I’d tricked Dagon – how I pretended to break down and accept his deal to turn me mortal, making him look into my eyes and see that part of me that has long been lost, that part of me that craved life as it had been. All so I could make him trust me in those short imperative minutes so I’d have enough time to come up with a plan of my own: to get him close enough and then push him inside that cauldron.

Cassian then explains to me that I’d been shot with a faebane arrow. That was the pain I felt between my shoulder blades right before I lost my senses and felt my body tilt towards the misty dark waters. Turns out that a few Autumn soldiers decided to leave their border to make sure that Eris was being protected inside the manor, and one of them betrayed him. At seeing Dagon, the one he was faithful to, so close to me and so near that cauldron, at sensing that something was about to go wrong, the soldier was quick to aim an arrow at me faster than anybody else could detect.

Cassian tells me that the moment that arrow was let loose, ten of our soldiers jumped on the Autumn sentry, ripping him to pieces in a matter of seconds. He says, as he sits next to me in the office of the House of Wind (we haven’t been able to let go of each other since last night), that after I fell into the waters, his only focus was on trying to save me.

He intended to dive in, too. To save me.

“Eris stopped me in time,” he says, lowering his head. And then, “It was for the best, I was too…crazed. I was only going to make it worse going in there,” he murmurs not too soon after. There’s shame in that confession but –

There’s also gratefulness.

“I’m glad he did,” I tell him, squeezing his hand in front of everybody. “Neither one of us would’ve made it out alive if you had jumped in.”

“How did you?” Amren asks.

So I dive into more specific detail, not letting anything out of my story. No more secrets. No more masks. I tell them everything I saw and everything I felt. I shed no tears, though some I blink back, as I recount the part where the cauldron tried to rip me apart just to cleave the power I took from it. How I fought its deadly, gripping power and how I looked at the darkness in the eye and held it by the neck with claws and fangs.

I tell them how, for a moment, I got lost in that forgotten, strange world between what’s living and what’s dead, where it’s neither cold nor warm, where it’s not peaceful and it’s not safe.

I don’t need to tell them – tell him – what brought me back.

Everybody knows.

He knows.

Cassian only holds my hand tighter.

“After that,” I tell them, breathing in. “I crawled out.”

“Yet you didn’t leave Dagon in the cauldron,” Mor murmurs.

“No,” I say to her, turning my head in her direction. “He managed to crawl out once. And he was strong enough to do it again – I could feel it in there with him. So I made sure he came back with me.”

So I could kill him myself. As I declared.

I won’t forget the sound of ripping flesh so soon, the sticky feel of the blood dripping down my arms –

But for now…

I stare at the faces around me, looking back at me in contemplating silence. They are smiling. All of them. And I should be unsettled by it – by the attention they’re giving me, the attentive looks but…I’m not. I’m calm. For the first time I’m calm.

Maybe it’s Cassian. I feel it coming from him, too.

We’ve barely had time to discuss what we are, but –

But we made it through.

I made it through.

“What happened to the cauldron?” Cassian asks suddenly, tearing his eyes away from me for a spare second. I watch as his thumb rubs gentle circles on the back of my hand.

“We still need to have a meeting with the other High Lords now that Drakon and Miryam…” Rhysand trails off, his head lowering. Feyre rubs his arm gently, encouraging him, her face saddened. The High Lord breathes, and then he continues, “For now – it’s safe with Eris.”

Whatever Eris did in that manor…it made Rhysand trust him. It made all of them trust him. And I guess that included a very small part of Cassian, too.

“What happened to him?” I wonder out loud, willing anyone to answer me.

“Eris sort of saved the day,” Feyre says. Then she smiles lightly, “As much as it pains me to admit it.”

“He did?”

“He saved you, too,” Cassian admits. There’s still tension in those words, in those hazel eyes as he stares down at me. Gratefulness and yet –

“For now he’s trying to settle his people,” Rhysand adds, cutting off that tension in Cassian. “Getting them used to the news. But he’s doing a good job. I think,” Rhys stops himself then, breathing a laugh. “It also pains me enormously to admit it, but I think he’ll be a good leader.”

Silent nods of agreement around the room. Amren included. Even from Cassian, though a little hesitant. I look up at him again and see in his eyes that there’s still a lot about what happened that I don’t know – that he has to tell me. In due time.

I’m not surprise at this revelation, though.

I think I knew for a long time what kind of male dwelled inside that mask Eris had created from himself. The mask that his father helped shape. I think I understood what kind of male Eris really was, really could be, if only given the chance to prove himself.

“We’re thinking of inviting him to Starfall,” Feyre murmurs to all of us. “As a thank you for what he did. And…as a symbol of our support and alliance.”

“We wanted to talk to you first,” Rhysand tells us. Then he looks to Mor – expecting a decline. He receives none.

But it’s Elain who nods fervently from Lucien’s side. They sit quietly together in one of the couches, though not close to each other. I want to turn my head and see what the spymaster thinks of this but I don’t. I’m captivated by her smile. How natural and genuine it seems. “Yes,” she says. “I think it’s a great idea.”

For a second I just stare at my younger sister, ignoring the look Lucien gives her – all full of longing and happiness. For a second, I marvel at that smile, at the ability she has to make herself happy no matter what, no matter what she goes through.

I admire Elain for it.

For her willingness to see the good and forget the bad.

She smiles at the rest of us, her eyes lingering on me. She’s here now with her family and friends. And everything is alright. In her eyes those same words seem to shine through. Whatever happened…it does not matter right now.

Now it’s time to let the sunshine in.

I think I want to learn how to be more like her.

Lucien starts at her words.

Sensing his apprehension, Elain looks up at him. “It would do you good to spend some time together. Don’t you think?”

Lucien looks uncomfortable.

I’m relishing every moment of it.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Elain –“

“You saved his life.”

“To prevent a bloodbath.”

“You love your brother, Lucien,” Elain says, smiling wider. “Despite it all.”

Lucien says no more as Elain turns her head away, happy as ever.

Feyre and Rhysand give each other a look and –

Azriel stands in the shadows, unmoving. I don’t want to wonder what kind of pain he’s in. I don’t want to think about any of them destroying the smile that my sister is trying hard to maintain.

“Why not,” Amren breaks the silence, uncrossing her arms. “Bring him over. We might have some fun scaring the shit out of him.”

Mor hides a smile behind her hand – as does Feyre.

“You’re only agreeing to it because you want to bring your own pet,” Cassian shoots at her, a grin plastered on his face. I’m aching because of it. “Your boyfriend.”

“Say that again and I’ll make sure you end the day with zero teeth left to count,” she bites back, a cat’s smile spreading on her face.

The words leave my clenched mouth before I can stop them. “Watch it.”

Amren raises one eyebrow at me. A flicker of pride from my side. She says, “Easy, girl,” and smiles wider. Amren then turns completely to me. “So you showed your wolf after all.”

“I can show it again,” I warn.

Cassian muffles a smile, gently squeezing my hand.

“Whenever you need a good brawl,” Amren tells me. “Come to me, girl.”

There’s a pause.

I give her a smile of my own.

The room seems to breathe in relief.

“So,” Elain says. “What now?”

Feyre smiles, resting her head on her mate’s shoulder. “Now we celebrate.”

***

Cassian takes me out into the streets of Velaris.

Though weak, the sun is still high in the sky, the winter snow coating the rooftops of the pretty townhouses and spreading like a silky white carpet on the cobblestones reflecting the light, and thus making the day a lot brighter.

It’s so bright.

We walk in silence.

What happened yesterday – it feels like too long ago. Like a lost dream in the back of my mind in between scattered memories. I’m so surprised. I’m surprised at how effortlessly it now seems to drive away the nightmares and the monsters.

I came out of that Cauldron alive.

I fought the darkness. And it did not become me.

I became that darkness.

I crowned myself its queen. And I won. I lived. Fought through hell pits and empty, lonely holes, and still I did not stray away from it. I ran to it. I lived. I lived. I survived.

I wonder, briefly, how long this feeling of invincibility will last. If I’ll ever have one more night soaking in my own sweat, drowning in my nightmares, letting myself be dragged by the hands of those monsters.

I wonder if I’ll ever be afraid of anything ever again.

Diving into those waters again made me realize that those monsters I’d been seeing in my dreams every night, keeping me from resting, from peace, weren’t real – I was the real monster, then.

I have been the monster of my own story for too long.

And now – now I’m ready to be something else.

That’s why when I feel his eyes on me, I touch his hand and entwine our fingers as we walk through the snowy streets.

And that feeling deep inside me awakens like a rising sun. It makes its way into my heart and drives away any darkness that surrounds it, only leaving behind a path of warmth, of light, of brightness.

I feel his joy, flickering in that space between us.

But we say nothing as walk. There are no need for words – we never needed words. Just this. Just touching. Just silence.

He’s taking me somewhere – though I can’t figure out where. My mind is a blank as I walk next to him, as I feel his warmth.

Soon enough though, Cassian stops me in front of a townhouse apartment.

I snap my head to him. “Really?” I’m without words. “Already?”

Cassian smiles. “You said you wanted an apartment of your own,” he says, pointing with his chin. “I talked to Rhys. It can be yours, if you like it. For now it just has the basic necessities but –“

He’s stuttering.

The brutal warrior, the Lord of Bloodshed –

I realize all at once that I’ve never seen him this…babbly. Cassian is all wits and quick words and clever jokes. This Cassian, however…

Different, very different.

I want to stare at him forever.

“If you want, of course, you’ll get to decorate it on your own,” he continues, his words fumbling together. “You have your own bank account and – yes, I know you told Rhys you didn’t want a pay check but you’re still Emissary for the Night Court and…”

“Breathe,” I tell him.

Cassian suddenly looks at me.

He chuckles. I want to kiss him. I want to let my arms wrap around his middle and pull him close, bury my face in his chest so I can hear that chuckle closer, the rumble of his chest as he laughs.

Also he’s relieved – I can see it. At my joke. He’s relieved I’m not shutting him out but instead…letting him in, letting him see a spark of a smile in my eyes as I listen to him.

Gods.

He’s so beautiful.

“It’s your apartment,” Cassian says gently. “If you want it.”

He did this for me.

All for me.

“Show me the inside?” I ask him, pulling at his hand.

Cassian has never looked happier.

***

The apartment is relatively small, compact – cosy. Easy to keep. The furniture is still very basic – wooden surfaces, neutral fabrics and polished floors. My favourite part is the living room – where, at the centre of the opposite wall, a fireplace stands, its marbled mantel finishing the unfinished house.

I look around once more – this time exploring on my own.

There’s not a bathtub in the bathroom – just a shower.

Every room is packed with big, wide windows, letting in all the possible light. No more darkness.

I stop in the bedroom.

My fingertips gently trace the softness of the mattress as my eyes trail over the ebony dresser. My eyes catch my reflection in the mirror that stands next to it – my face is too pale still, dark circles rimming my eyes, my cheeks still slightly hollow but definitely fuller than they were a few months ago.

My eyes, though –

They’re bright. Awake. Alight with my new-found life.

I almost don’t recognize myself.

The air changes the second I hear his footsteps in the room. The moment he crosses it – to me.

Cassian stands behind me, and I look into his clear hazel eyes from the mirror. He says nothing as he approaches me, eyes trailing over my back – to where the arrow pierced me.

I still don’t know how I survived it. How I removed it, while in the cauldron.

I don’t think about it as a shiver runs through me, the exact moment when I feel his chest against my back. I try not to close my eyes and keep staring at him through the mirror as Cassian lowers his head to rest his chin on my shoulder.

His arms wrap around me.

I did not destroy my fortress after that night in the Summer Court.

He is my fortress. His arms are the gates that keep my safe, though they do not enclose on me completely. They do not trap me.

He whispers to me, “How do you like it?”

I want to melt in his arms at the feel of his breath against my ear.

“How long have you been arranging it for me?” I ask him, taking a breath when his hands caress me over my stomach, over the thick coat.

Cassian smiles crookedly against me – like he knew I’d realize soon enough.

“A while.”

“When?”

“When you kissed me on my bed that morning,” he says, rubbing circles into my winter coat. “I talked to Rhys then. Told him you needed a safe space.”

“Did you plan for it yourself?”

“Yes,” he confesses.

There’s a pause.

“Even if you didn’t want it,” Cassian continues. “It’d still be here – whenever you wanted an escape. If you ever wanted an escape.”

I turn to him.

And see his slight hesitance, not really knowing what reaction I’ll have to this revelation.

I’m so moved by him.

I knew he cared before but –

But this…

I want to burst into tears when I touch his face and sense the absolute joy just at that gesture alone. But I keep them in, keep anything that isn’t gratefulness and happiness from my face. I stare into those deep eyes. The eyes of the male I love. The eyes of my mate. And I whisper to him, “You brought me home.”

Cassian is the one to burst into tears.

He kneels at my feet.

And breaks down.

I hold him through it – the same way he held me the night before as I cried and screamed and trashed in his arms. As I clung to him with every bit of strength I had left.

I wrap my hands around him and weave my fingers through the dark curls, letting him rest his forehead on my stomach. His sobs anguish me to no end, send a bolt of pain right to my chest – but I let him get it all out. I’m his lighthouse in the middle of the storm that we both survived. It’s my turn to hold him, to guide him, now.

I have to look at the ceiling to stop the tears from coming. I clutch him tighter when he clutches me tighter. And we stay like this for a long time.

Until I kneel on the floor, my knees against his.

I push his hair back from his tear-stained face, letting my hands caress his skin and wipe the tears off in the same gesture. I kiss his face, kiss every tear, every terrible memory, every nightmare and every monster away. I let myself be the light – the same light he is for me – and I say to him in a whisper, “It’s over. It’s over now.”

He’s shaking as he lets his head fall on my shoulder, my arms around his body. 

Me and him…we have a long way to go, a hard path to walk.

But as long as we’re holding on tight to each other – the flood can never drag us down again. Dry land awaits us. Home awaits us.

“Cassian,” I whisper to him gently, my breath against his ear.

He caresses my back at hearing me say his name. He kisses my temple, so gently. And he whispers back, “Sweetheart.”

I smile. “Cassian,” I whisper again, closing my eyes. “I love you.”

His body goes still. Every bit of him stills in my arms.

When he pulls away, I’m smiling.

When he stares at me like the world is brand new, I’m smiling.

When he smiles, I’m smiling.

And when he kisses me, I’m smiling against his lips.

Slow and loving and full of longing – it’s a kiss that begs to last a lifetime. A kiss that lets me crawl to the skies and lay on a pile of clouds. A kiss that’s unafraid, unending. A kiss that knows no more doubts.

Somehow I end up on the bed.

Whispering his name as his face is buried on my neck, his mouth pestering what little is showing of my skin with gentle, playful kisses.

I’m squirming, smiling, in his arms, as I wrap my own against his shoulders.

We stare at each other.

We are a fumble of limbs – not knowing where one of us begins and the other ends.

Cassian leans down and kisses my nose.

Kisses my mouth.

And then he pulls away, very gently, just a fraction of an inch, to tell me, “Love is a fire that burns unseen, a wound that aches yet isn’t felt, an always discontent contentment, a pain that rages without hurting, a longing for nothing but to long, a loneliness in the midst of people, a never feeling pleased when pleased, a passion that gains with lost in thought.”

 

Of course.

Of course he remembers.

I think I’m not breathing when he says, afterwards, “I love you.”

I bring his face down to me, and touch my lips to his again and again.

A glimmer in that darkness, a feeling of warmth through my body…

This is it.

Here it is.

It shines through me, that light, that warmth, enveloping every bit of my freezing heart, melting away the ice and making it beat again. It spreads through my veins, colouring my cheeks and making me feel as if nothing has ever existed in this world but him. And happiness. And warmth.

I gasp when Cassian’s hand trails up my leg, gripping my thigh over the black leggings. And I gasp again when he kisses me deeper, pressing his body against mine.

I’m hot all over.

That thrumming in my veins is nothing like I’ve experienced before. That need, that…that possessiveness over him –

It makes me mad with want.

His lips are on my neck and I’m moaning because of him, because of the tongue that licks a stripe right to the place behind my earlobe. I shiver against him and feel him smile against my skin, at the effect he knows he has on me.

Lifting my hips, I rub against him.

Even through the thick clothing, I feel him. Hard and ready for me. At his growl of approval, I do it again. My eyes flutter closed at the contact, the friction. I want to rip his clothes off. I want to have him right now –

“Nes –“

“What now?” I’m panting against his cheek.

Cassian breathes a laugh against me. “Sweetheart – I would love to stay and see where this takes us, but I have to go check on the Illyrians. Make sure everyone is settled alright and there are no useless fights between them in Devlon’s camp.”

I look up at him when Cassian pulls his face away from the crook of my neck.

I throw my head back in exasperation.

He laughs at me.

Kisses my cheek. “You’ve waited this long,” he tells me, a devil hand on my ass, gripping. Hard.

I slap it away, equally hard. “Yes, I’ve waited this long.”

“I’ll make it worth the wait, Nesta, sweetheart.”

And that tone –

Because I know what this apartment also means.

Cassian kisses me softly, pulling strands of hair away from my face distractedly, as if he has nowhere to be at all. He pulls away to look at me, eyes searching my face, memorizing every corner of it. Then he kisses me again – much more gently. I sigh against his mouth, letting my legs close on his hips, just to pull him closer. I just want to feel him close. Feel his warmth. Cassian says against my lips, “Do you want this house?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s yours.”

I pause. Cassian stares at me, trying to decipher my expression. Then I ask him, my tone quiet, “Can’t it be ours instead?”

I live for the look of surprise he gives me.

For the way he blinks, realizing my words actually came out of my mouth and they’re not, in fact, a product of his imagination.

“You want me here with you?”

I haven’t slept alone in a while.

Not because I can’t. After what happened, after that initial first night where I cried my eyes out to him, cried so hard I had to get up and puke, I feel like I can no longer bear to stare at the non-existent monsters in my brain. I cannot visit them, access them, anymore.

They are all dead.

And I can sleep – even if I don’t have him with me. That comforting warmth will always remain with me, no matter where he is.

So – not because I can’t. But now…now I don’t have to sleep alone. Not if I don’t want to.

Even though I find it delightful, his look of surprise makes me feel slightly taken aback. I whisper, “Only if you…want to.”

“Are you joking?”

My heart races. “What?”

Then he smiles. Blindingly beautiful. “Of course I want to.”

“You do?”

“Why do you look so surprised?” He asks, chuckling. “It’s as if you still don’t believe what I feel for you.” 

Sometimes I don’t. I don’t believe how lucky I got. Today, though –

“I believe you,” I breathe.

Cassian smiles again. And I can’t help but smile with him, delirious with happiness. It’s the kind of happiness that seems indestructible – like it’ll never fade.

I’m delirious, indeed.

“I want you here,” I tell him. “I want you here with me. Everyday.”

“I’ll be here, sweetheart,” he tells me. “Everyday.”

“Cassian,” I whisper.

“Hum?”

But I don’t respond. I just like the taste of his name on my tongue. So I repeat it, “Cassian.”

“Nesta,” he whispers back, twirling a piece of my hair in his finger. “My love.”

His lips are on mine again. And I almost lose control again with him pressed this firmly against me, aligned perfectly with my body, so when he pulls away completely and moves off the bed, I let out a long breath.

He pulls me up with him.

“I’ll be back soon,” he tells me, kissing me.

I know I have to let him go for now, but his lips –

I pull away, “Go.”

He looks at me once – at my body – probably debating with himself whether he should just ignore his duties and take me now. And he looks close to doing it, so that’s why I repeat, “Go. I’m going to see my sisters and I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Dinner,” he mumbles distractedly.

I touch his chin, lifting it slightly so his eyes fall on mine and not on other parts of my body. “Come home soon.”

I kiss him. And then I literally have to push him out the door, for his hands start fumbling with my coat and I know the second he touches me I will not be able to stop.

He pauses at the door, though. And pushes me in for one last kiss before I push at his chest and order him to leave.

“At your orders, Commander,” he smirks.

“Go,” I tell him, hiding the stupid blush on my cheeks.

He leaves then.

And as I turn to the window, I look just in time to see a pair of beautiful black shimmering wings flapping against the snow, aiming for the mountains in the distance.

***

This home feels quiet – yet not the sort of quiet that makes me anxious.

The sort of quiet that’s peaceful.

I watch the sunset from the windows of the living room, watching as the orange rays coat the white walls a soft beige colour. The world falls asleep but I’m wide awake, my foot tapping the wooden floors as I feel him approaching.

My heart races.

I tell myself to calm down.

The door opens.

His wings fold behind his back as he walks in, as he closes the door behind him and stares at me from the hall. I can’t take it. I leap from my seat and walk to him.

The moment my body lifts from the couch, he’s walking towards me.

And we clash. 

It’s tongue and teeth and lips. It’s hands pushing and ripping and groping. It’s me arching my back against his body as Cassian digs his fingers into my hip bones, yanking me close to him. It’s me breathing a sigh of relief as I feel my back against the wall, as I feel his lips against mine, moving gently but fervently, like there’s no more time left to waste.

Like he can’t wait any longer to have me, claim me.

My hands slide to his leathers, clumsily pulling them apart as my mind keeps getting distracted with his lips on mine, with his tongue tasting my mouth. It only serves as a reminder of his lips elsewhere on my body, making me squirm. But Cassian suddenly has got hold of both of my wrists in one hand and is pulling my arms above my head.

He breathes hard against my lips.

“Bedroom,” it all he manages to growl.

I respond by leaning forward and capturing his lips with mine in a harsh kiss. There’s nothing tender about the way that Cassian picks me up, hands squeezing my ass as he pulls me up. My arms and legs wrap around him as he goes up the stairs, his wings shaking with anticipation. I open my eyes as he kisses me and attempt to lift a hand towards that wing –

Only for Cassian to pull it back, away from me.

Bastard.

He grins against my lips, as if he’s read the word in my mind.

He pushes the door of my – our – bedroom open.

Pulls away from my lips and stares at me.

I’m full of want for him. For his mouth on me, his length inside me. I feel him now against me pushing right on my centre, and I can only rest my forehead against his so as to grab onto my short, thin self-control. Or what little I have left of it.

“Nesta.”

“I want you,” I assure him. “No one but you.”

Something inside him snaps at my words.

And Cassian is lying me down on the mattress, on the soft, white sheets. And, unlike seconds ago, he does it gently. Watching every move with a predator’s focus.

I watch his back straighten as he looks down at me, my clothes half-torn from my body. His wings flare behind him – big and wide, and I’m suddenly trailing my eyes along them, memorizing the contours. Then my gaze falls to his chest, to the armour that he’s now dropping on the floor. The scent of him floods my senses, erases everything and anything else.

My mouth is watering.

The moment he touches his shirt, I move to him.

“Let me,” I stumble on the words, my lungs struggling for breath as I push his hands away. “Let me do it.”

Cassian shakes at those words.

I’m shaking altogether as I undo the buttons – slowly. I take my time.

One by one.

Then I grow impatient and just rip it off him.

Cassian lets out a mixture between a snarl and a laugh.

I look down at his trousers, see the contour of his bulging length pressing against the fabric. I snap a button open with my nail.

Cassian touches his lips to my forehead, grinning as he watches me.

Then he helps push the material down his legs. He’s bare in front of me and I have no idea where I want to touch him, kiss him, next.

Looking down at his length I don’t know how he’ll –

I swallow, look up at him. Cassian is watching my every move, every bit of him focused, intent.

“We don’t have to,” he whispers.

I silence him with my lips.

And push him down onto the bed, crawling on top of him. Though I’m mindful of the wings.

Cassian is absolutely delighted.

I kiss a path up his chest as my hands roam his sides, nails lightly scratching his skin. His burning under my touch, scalding. But I keep going until my lips are on his jaw. A trail of kisses along the strong bones of his face has Cassian reaching for me, for my clothes.

I push his hands away, off me.

“Nes – “ he complains.

“Not yet,” I tell him.

I grip him.

He gasps.

He’s impossibly hard. And I want my mouth on him so bad, but –

I go slowly. Step by step, I mark my path down his body, lips and teeth claiming him as mine. Cassian’s breathing catches in his throat as I stroke my hand up and down softly, my palm barely grazing his member – just the gentle touch of my fingers against him.

I push his legs open so I step in between.

My heart races with boldness now as I look up to see him with his eyes closed, the most wonderful expression in his face. I watch, marvelled, as Cassian grunts under his breath whenever my hand slides up to his tip, as my thumb circles him.

I kiss below his bellybutton and notice him watching me.

I turn my face, my eyes never moving away from him, and I lick a stripe on the side of him.

Cassian breathes in sharply.

He grips the sheets as I do it again. When I taste him at the tip, Cassian begs me.

“Tell me,” I say to him as my hand keeps caressing him. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

He grunts loudly. “Put your mouth on me.”

The words send an electric current through my bones. It gathers a pool of warmth between my legs.

Cassian grips the sheets harder as he smells the arousal on me.

I position myself accordingly against him, hands gripping him at the base. Tentatively, I wrap my mouth around his tip.

I missed the taste of him.

I missed hearing him breathe my name in between moans.

“Nesta.”

I take him a little deeper.

And pull back up when he fills my mouth. And I repeat it again and again, my hand stroking what I can’t take into my mouth. But I taste him until Cassian is writhing on the sheets under me, panting my name in breathless whispers, his hand on the side of my face as my tongue swirls on him.

He warns me he’s close and attempts to push me away, but I refrain from moving. I watch him as his eyes flutter closed, as his mouth opens in a silence cry as I take him as deep as I can. I take his distraction as an opportunity to lift my free hand and touch the base of his wing, my finger caressing the velvety inside.

Cassian has ripped the sheet under him.

A string of curses fall from his mouth as I finish licking him up. And he throws his head back as I pull away, letting my lips explore his hips, his thighs – wherever they can reach as Cassian slowly comes down. I watch his wings fluttering slightly.

“Sweetheart.”

I look up.

“Come here.”

I move up his body, almost moaning at the ache between my legs as I do. Cassian seems to notice it too as he touches his lips to mine, for he grins in delight.

Then I’m being pushed back into the mattress his body pressing me down.

I rub my legs together at the sight of him eyeing me. Those eyes –

His eyes snap to my legs, to my movements, before looking back at me. Slowly, he pushes my boots off, then my leggings are gone. The cold hair bites at my burning skin as Cassian undresses me, and I actually shiver when his lips touch the top of my thighs. I squeeze my legs together at those nearing lips, attempting to find some kind of friction –

Cassian spreads my legs.

And grins at what he sees. Scents.

“My, my, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You are just begging to have my mouth on you.”

And because I’m too desperate and any pride has clearly been thrown out the window, I whisper, “Please.”

I’m shaking with want.

And he’s not giving me anything yet.

No – he simply moves to my sweater and pushes that off of me, too. His eyes follow the lines and curves of my breasts, though his hands – to my utter frustration – don’t go anywhere near them. He looks towards my underwear and tugs it – or tears it down – in one single gesture.

I’m seeing stars and he’s barely touched me.

“Please,” I tell him again, lifting my hips –

Cassian just kneels on the bed, fascination reigning his gaze. His eyes memorize every single contour of my body and the way he looks at me just makes me want him so much more than I already do.

He holds my legs open when I try to close them again.

“Cassian.”

At the mention of his name, I know I won.

His head dives in.

And it’s an effort not to lose myself right then and there at the first lick of his tongue.

I’m loud now – loud enough to bring down this townhouse. But I don’t care. Let the world hear.

My hands are grasping his hair, pulling as his tongue flicks against me, as his fingers dive under my ass to grip it – to lift it.

A gasp tears itself from me as Cassian’s mouth completely devours me. My nails scrape the mattress, tearing more into that sheet, as my moans and his tongue become the only sounds in the room, in the world.

His name falls from my mouth as I go over the edge. It’s quick, unexpected and it lasts an eternity – for Cassian does not stop. Not as I attempt to push him off me, my legs limp, not as I whisper his name in awe as my head falls back into the pillows.

His fingers replace his mouth.

And he gives me no warning as he thrusts in, his movements deep yet slow now. His lips leave bites along the sensitive skin on the inside of my thighs as his talented fingers work on me. My hips lift off the mattress as he curls them inside me, his name a choked gasp on my mouth.

I feel his canines press against my skin and I open my eyes in time to see him looking up at me. The last sun rays shine through the window, hitting his face just right.

He’s made of gold between my thighs. 

His eyes are every colour in the world combined, colours I didn’t even know existed swim in those beautiful depths. The sight of him rushes me to that edge again, quicker than the last.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he encourages.

“Cassian – “

“I’m here,” he whispers to me, eyes never leaving mine even as he kisses my legs. “I’m here.”

His voice does it.

My legs shake beside his head, falling dead on the mattress. I’m aware of nothing as I close my eyes and rest my head on the pillow. I’m sure the whole of Prythian heard me – yet I’m not ashamed. Not as I watch him lick his fingers, his tongue cleaning my taste off him.

And I’m in shambles again.

I taste myself on him as Cassian takes my lips, his hands gentling my body down, relaxing me and making me want him again in the same slow, torturing movements. I find his hands move upwards and – when I prepare to have his hands on my breasts –

They move close to my arm pits.

And he tickles me.

I almost jump off the bed, kicking at him and squirming in his arms as he tortures me in a completely different way. I realize I’m squealing and screaming and laughing hysterically in his face, my hands trying to push him off, trying to defend myself –

He’s too strong and I can’t breathe.

“S-Stop,” I laugh again, the way I never laughed before, high and most likely mad-sounding.

But he doesn’t stop.

“CASSIAN.”

He laughs against me, wrestling my hands off him and moving his to that spot again. My back leaves the mattress as my body wriggles, my lungs screaming –

“Please,” I beg, tears in my eyes. “Please,” I chuckle. “Stop, stop.”

He does.

And he looks at me like he’s never seen me before.

I realize he probably never has seen this before.

My smile tones down, my breathing erratic.

I push him down, towards me. Hug him to my body.

I feel his surprise as his arms envelop me, as his hands gently caress my sides –

“I will kick you,” I whisper. “Don’t you dare.”

Cassian laughs against my ear, kissing that tender spot on my neck.

“Who knew Nesta Archeron had a very obvious ticklish spot,” he muses, biting my earlobe. I make a snorting laugh that leaves me appalled with myself. At the sounds I’m able to make. “I wonder if she has more…”

I place a foot on his chest, warning him with my eyes.

Cassian grins, the glint in his eyes nothing short of devilish. He traces my leg, eyeing me. Then his expression changes altogether: to something softer, milder.

He leans in and takes one nipple into his mouth.

I breathe in, turning my head to the side, my eyes falling closed.

His hands come to help his ministrations, gently caressing the skin, squeezing. I want to tell him – tell him I’m ready for him again.

But I don’t find the words. Not as he kisses the underside of my breast, not as his thumb flickers on my wet nipple.

I’m aching all over for him.

“Cassian,” I whisper.

He looks up.

“Take me.”

He kisses my palm as my hand comes to caress his cheek, as I try to pull him up to me. I leave a kiss on his lips, and whisper to him again. “Do it.”

His knuckles trace the side of my face – so gently. His eyes are now molten chocolate in the moonlight.

As he kisses me again – I don’t know why I was nervous before. I can’t remember. Not as his length presses into me.

I pull away to let out a breathless moan at feeling him slide over my wetness.

“Stop it,” I almost snarl at him, holding on to his neck. “You’re teasing me, now.”

“Isn’t that what we’re all about, Nesta, sweetheart?” he chuckles softly, his breath making the stray hairs of my face fly off my sweaty forehead.

“I’m yours,” I tell him, ignoring the humour. “Cassian. I’m yours to claim.”

Because deep down – I see a male who believes himself not worthy.

Behind those smirks and teasing remarks, there’s the male who’s been brought down his whole life. Who, despite it all – his power, his family, his position – does not deem himself worthy of me at all.

I touch his chest – right above his heart. “You’re mine,” I say to him. Every word said with my eyes locked on his. Cassian almost breaks down at hearing it. “And I’m yours. We belong to each other.” I bring his face down, so gently. Kiss him, so softly. “I’m your mate.”

“You’re my mate,” he repeats, closing his eyes.

“Yours.”

And looking back on it, to a conversation I had with Feyre on Tarquin’s beach, I remember feeling breathless, panicked at the thought of having this. A mate. A mate in Cassian. I thought I’d be trapped forever in a cage I didn’t know how to get out of. I thought I would never again have a choice.

But I did have a choice.

And I was not imprisoned. I wasn’t about owning anyone – it was about belonging. A sense of home. 

I tell him, then. I tell him everything as I feel him nudge into me, my hands at his cheeks, making him look at me even when the feel of me makes him close his eyes. “I’m yours,” I repeat. “And I choose you. I choose you, Cassian. My love, my heart. My mate.” My mouth falls open as I feel him entering me. I keep staring into those eyes, at the raw emotion I see in them. “You’re my mate – and my home. And I – “

A moan falls out of me as his thumb presses and circles down on me, as he slides deeper, slow. “I love you,” I gasp against his lips.

“I love you,” he murmurs back, resting his forehead against mine, his teeth clenching as he wills himself to go slow.

My legs tense up –

“Relax, sweetheart,” he whispers to me, his voice dripping with want, with love. His hands caress my legs, easing my body. My hips fall on the mattress again, my mind clouded at the feel of him inside me –

He thrusts in to the hilt.

My name falls out of his mouth as my fingertips dig into the back of his neck. As I gasp against his lips, my legs pressing against his hips.

That slight pain doesn’t go away so soon. Even if Cassian doesn’t move. 

He can sense it, for he pulls out slowly.

I start. “No –“

“Come here, sweetheart.”

I then realize what he’s doing. 

Cassian sits on the mattress, holding his arms open for me. The inside of my thighs is slick as I crawl to his arms.

“You can go at your own pace this way,” he tells me, breathless, as he wraps his arms around me.

The rough purr of his voice makes me crave him inside me again – despite the slight pain. I’m sighing as Cassian leans down to take one of my breasts into his mouth again, tongue gently circling.

He helps me sink down on him.

Better – much better.

“Slow,” he murmurs gently against my skin.

I sink down slow, feeling everything.

And this time, when I feel that same pain, I only sink down lower. My legs shake and my hands shake harder as I grip his shoulders. My hips move as if on their own, gently sliding up and down, impossibly slow. And I see the effort his making not to let his instinct take over, but watching his face as I lower myself down again –

A beast roars inside me.

I never felt this.

Never.

Soon enough, his hands are on my hips, guiding me in a steady, slow rhythm. My moans are low, deep, while his are contained grunts and growls against my shoulder. Until it feels too good, too much, for me to go slow. So I hold on to him as I move myself against him, diving deeper everytime.

My head is thrown back at the feel of him twitching inside me along with his hot lips on my neck, teeth lightly scratching at my skin. I feel the devastating ripple of his power washing over me – as he can feel mine – and I open my eyes to see Cassian watching me.

He whispers, “You’re so beautiful,” and kisses me.

His hands move my body when my legs give out, his hips thrusting into me at a delicious pace. I moan against his mouth as Cassian’s hand comes down to caress me again.

“My mate,” he says between moans.

My mate – who never ran from the darkness that took me.

My mate – who fought for me even when no one else would.

My mate – who drew blood to get to me.

My mate – who could wake me up from the darkest of nightmares.

“I love you,” I repeat against his lips. “Cassian,” I moan. “I love you.”

I beg him then – I beg him to take everything.

And he does.

Cassian pushes me down against the mattress and buries his face on my neck, murmured I love you’s sounding broken from his lips as his hips thrust into me. I’m a mess under him, writhing and squirming, moaning his name over and over as that sweet edge makes my toes curl.

When I manage to open my eyes then – I watch him. That powerful body move against me, the hands that grasp mine on the mattress, fingers entwined as he stares into my eyes. He squeezes my hands and, with one last thrust, Cassian falls.

His forehead is against mine, his lips tasting my mouth again.

He stills inside me.

I feel it then – that tidal wave that runs through me, unsettling the world. Those two raw, equal powers – not fighting with each other, but mixing together.

Cassian is careful not to crush me with his body, though I feel every inch of him press against me.

My heart is pounding. That bond shines through us like morning light.

I say to him, barely able to breathe, “Worth the wait, indeed.”

And he laughs.

It’s the most beautiful sound in the world.

“I love you,” he smiles at me.

“I love you,” I smile at him.

“My mate,” he marvels at the word, his smile reaching his eyes.

I nod, taking hold of his hand and leading his bruised knuckles to my mouth. “Your mate.”

We’re silent for a long, long time, just taking the time to be with each other, holding each other, like we’ve always wanted to – needed to. It’s just us, in a calm, silent world of our own.

I’m lying with my chin on his chest, my unbound hair falling on his body.

“Have you always known?” I ask suddenly, the candlelight making shapes on his face. I trace them with the tip of my finger – which he kisses before answering.

“No,” he smiles softly, lazily. “I realized…before we went to the Summer Court. I was sure the night I found you on that beach.”

“That’s the night I was sure, as well,” I tell him, entwining our fingers and watching the difference between the sizes of our hands with quiet, light-hearted amusement.

Cassian watches me affectionately.

“It was wrong to try and push you away.”

“Forget that,” he says gently, squeezing my fingers. “Let’s not bother with the past. I’m here now. You’re here now. That’s all that matters to me.”

“And you’re my mate,” I say.

“I am,” he grins. “Indeed I am.”

“Feyre told me…” I begin, trailing my eyes down to the scars on his chest. “Females prepare their males food. To accept the bond.”

Cassian shrugs. “It’s a stupid tradition.”

“Would you like that?”

And it’s an honest question – asking for an honest answer.

Cassian shrugs. “I don’t care either way, Nesta,” he smiles wide at me. “I think this…what we just did, is accepting enough on your part. Is it not?”

My face heats.

He watches me blush with wild eyes.

“I have something for you, though,” I tell him.

“Oh?”

I nod, gently pushing off him. I walk to the ebony dresser at the opposite side of the room, completely aware of his eyes trailing all over the back of my body as I do – and loving every minute of it – and then I take out a box. I place it on the bed and Cassian is quick to open.

He looks up at me.

I watch him carefully.

Slowly, he takes out one of the fifteen notebooks, flipping through it silently. As he reads, I bite my lip, awaiting his words.

They don’t come for a long time as he just sits and reads.

Amongst them is the book of poetry I lent him – the one we left at the Summer Court, retrieved by Feyre and given to me this morning. The first piece of my mind he saw.

Cassian seems at a loss for words.

“It’s not much,” I tell him. “But it’s all I can give you.”

He parts his lips, eyebrows slightly furrowed, as he looks at me. And before he has a chance to retort I say, “My soul was already yours long before this world was made. Longer before that, maybe. It has always belonged to you.” I pause, swallowing down all the things I feel for him – for just this one second. “My body – I told you I only wanted your hands on me and no one else’s. I meant it. I want you to know my body for the rest of our lives.” At this, Cassian takes my waist, guiding me to him. He sits me on his lap, and I touch his cheek as his eyes fill up with tears. He blinks them back as he stares down at me. As I finish, “This,” I say to him, eyeing all the notebooks. “This is my mind – as no one knows it. Only you have access to it. My soul, my body – and now my mind. They all belong to you,” I tell him, turning my face to him. I whisper, “I belong to you.”

Cassian stares at me.

And it’s a whole eternity that passes by.

My Prince of Flames – crumbling in front of me.

Never have I seen such eyes – such emotionally raw eyes. He tells me everything with that gaze. Everything.

I smile at him. “I know it’s not a customary mating bond gift, but – “

He cuts me off with his lips.

It’s so sudden I almost feel like fainting at the feel of his mouth pressed against mine. I remind myself to breathe as he pulls away, as he opens his eyes and just says, “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Nesta.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Because baring myself to him like that – it was the least I could give him. The least I could give him after pushing him away so many times. After Cassian stood by me countless times, even when I didn’t want him to. Even when I didn’t deserve it.

I make love to him again.

I watch him murmur my name from beneath me, his head thrown back as my hips move on him.

He takes me to the shower afterwards, where he takes me again against the wet walls. And only when my body feels like molten lava do we stop and get dressed in the few clothes I brought with me.

Cassian puts me in nothing but one of his shirts and flings me over his shoulder, carrying me to the kitchen. We manage to stop touching each other long enough for him to go out and grab us some food, but –

I’m famished for him again when he comes back, not ten minutes later, and so we clash together again. And I beg him to bend me over the table and take me.

And take me he did.

I end up sitting on his lap in the living room with the fire on, as we eat together, stealing kisses and teasing touches every now and then from one another. Then he pulls me tighter against him, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as we watch the fire.

“We have to get a new mattress,” he mumbles all of a sudden.

“Why?”

“You ripped this one.”

And I’m reminded – once more – of how warm he feels inside me, and I’m once again ripping at his clothes. Cassian barely has time to reach our room before I’m begging him to be inside me, and so he takes me hard against the wall, digging his fingers on the back of my thighs, his mouth claiming my neck, my breasts.

I know for a fact we will not be leaving this house so soon.

I know for sure as he manages to make my legs tremble once again that night.

***

“Won’t your brother ask where you are?” I ask Cassian the next morning, lying naked on top of me with nothing to cover us, despite the cold. I feel burning hot.

“I think the whole of Velaris knows what we’re doing, Nes,” he smirks down at me, one arm behind his neck as he strokes my back. “You were loud as hell last night.”

I search inside myself for a care to give.

I can’t find any.

I’m too blissful.

“Will we ever be exhausted? Tired of…being with each other like this?”

He suddenly laughs, big and loud, almost startling me.

“What?” I ask.

“After all we did last night, you still blush at the slightest of mentions of – “

“Shut up,” I grumble. “It’s still new to me, you brute.”

“Alright then,” he jokes, smiling down at me and stroking my cheek. I slap it away, though half-heartedly, making him chuckle. “No need to get mad.”

I roll my eyes at him, grabbing a pillow and hitting his face with it.

“Nesta,” he snarls, tugging me back to him playfully.

“Go play with yourself.”

“But you do it so much better,” he pouts.

I slap a hand on his mouth, “Stop.” I say to him firmly. “I’m sore. I can barely move. I can’t have you talk like that-”

Cassian smiles that shit eating grin as he pushes my hand away. “I miss your taste already.”

“Cassian-“

“Lean back.”

“I-“

He kisses my jaw, so gently. My eyes shut. I’m seeing stars again.

“Cassian,” I whisper.

And then I’m falling backwards into the mattress, a moaning mess underneath him once more.

***

I’m spent after four days.

Four days – that’s how long it took for me to be able to separate myself from him. To stop Cassian from wrapping his wings around me whenever I made to move off the bed.

I can’t believe our apartment is still reasonably intact.

There isn’t a surface in which he hasn’t taken me on yet.

I’m almost ashamed and embarrassed to go back, knowing the others are perfectly aware of what we did, not just with our scents mixed together but the way we walk next to each other. That…possessiveness over each other, what we are now…it shows on our faces.

His brothers send him teasing looks and remarks the second we land in the House of Wind. And I know enough of his temper to know Cassian will not be difficult to enrage. Especially not after what we did.

He explained it to me – how it worked for him.

“I don’t want to make you feel like an object,” he told me, wrapping me up in his arms on the ripped bed, wings forming a cocoon of soothing darkness and warmth around me. “But the instinct…”

“I know,” I responded. Because I knew what it was like for him – and I knew that he would never make me feel like that, owned, if he could help it.

“I’m sorry if I’m…impatient with the others whenever they’re around you,” Cassian continued against my cheek.

“I understand,” I mumbled, lazily taking his mouth. “I might be the same.”

I knew I’d be the same.

The thought of having Amren or Morrigan next to him –

It wasn’t rational. I knew it. But at the same time –

“We’re going to be a little on edge today,” I said to him, smiling slightly as I pulled my lips away.

“For the months to come, I think,” Cassian scoffed, fingertips trailing along my arm. “I might have to take you away for a while,” he grinned teasingly, leaning in to mark my face with kisses. “Maybe to the Illyrian mountains.”

“We’d bring them down,” I breathed.

“Indeed,” he mused. “I still have to take you outside.”

And I was gone again, my body sliding on top of his.

Now – walking into that House…I feel threats everywhere.

I almost cling to him. I almost grab his arm and pull him behind me as they walk up to us.

Ridiculous.

Elain hugs me as soon as she sees me. Me and Cassian wear turtlenecks for obvious reasons – though it’s as if I can feel Elain’s eyes simmering on my neck, analysing. I refrain from blushing – or try not to.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” Elain says excitedly as she pulls me away.

I look behind me at Cassian, to see him frowning at his brothers, hands almost shaking.

Dear gods – he’s going to bring this house down.

“You were?” I ask her.

Elain pulls me away, but not before Cassian jumps on Rhysand, a grinning Azriel eyeing them.

“They’ll be at it for a while,” Morrigan says from one of the couches, a magazine on her lap. She smiles up at me, “Welcome home.”

And the tone she gives me is nothing but friendliness. 

I look away with a mumbled “Thank you.”

And she just grins.

Feyre stands in the kitchen, chatting with Nuala and Cerridwen, who are in the middle of preparing a large lunch. My sister nibbles on a plate full of cookies, and eats one in a single bite as Elain pulls me in.

Feyre smiles at me. And for a second she doesn’t say anything.

And then, “You look happy.”

I pause, not knowing what to answer. I think back to the four days I spent cocooned with Cassian inside our apartment –

Heat covers my cheeks as I look at her, as I tell her, “I am.”

Feyre walks to me, taking my hands. “Congratulations, Nesta.”

When she wraps her arms around me, I hug her right back. I hug her like I’ve never hugged her before – clinging to her body. Feyre holds me just as tight. And then Elain is wrapping her own arms around us, smiling, happy, beautiful.

Until we all pull away.

“I – “ I start. I breathe in, “Thank you.”

“How was it?” Elain asks, eyebrows shooting up.

I’m at a loss for words as my sisters give me sly smiles. “It was difficult to leave.”

“Get used to it,” Feyre smiles. “That’s not going to fade any time soon.”

“Is he going to kill your own mate?”

Feyre chuckles, “Don’t worry – they did that when it was me and Rhys. Cassian pushed Rhys on purpose and…they’ll need to let it out soon enough.”

I scoff. Fae males, honestly.

Then Feyre gives me a look, placing herself between me and the spymaster’s wraiths as she gives me a small bottle of blue liquid.

“It’s a tonic,” she says. “Pregnancies are rare, but they can happen. Just in case you don’t want any younglings running around just yet.”

She winks at me.

I grab the bottle quicker than I’ve ever reached for anything in my life.

How I didn’t think of it –

Foolish.

But I swallow it down and give Feyre a grateful nod as she takes the flask.

“Me and Elain were planning to go shopping for dresses later,” she tells me. “Mor might join us, too. Would you like to come?”

I see it in my sister’s eyes – how she really wants me to join them as well. How she is almost praying that I’ll say yes.

No more masks, I remind myself. There’s nothing left to fear, I tell myself.

I tell them, “I would love that.”

And the smiles both my sisters wear are wide and happy. I like to think my own smile matches theirs.

***

Starfall called for a special gown, Feyre had said.

And so I’d chosen a midnight blue one with lace sleeves and subtle red gems in the front. Simple enough, but beautiful all the same. Feyre and Elain had sat me down in Elain’s vanity table, and my hair was let loose.

“You look beautiful,” Elain had whispered as she’d taken the pins out of my hair, brushing out the curls.

I looked at them in their own beautiful gowns and smiled, “You both look stunning.”

United as one, we descended the stairs.

Cassian is waiting for me, an empty drink in hand. The moment his eyes turn on me, sliding up and down my gown, my body, lingering on the long, loose hair, his hand opens, and his glass slips out of his grip.

But Rhysand catches it before it hits the floor, a sly smile on his face.

Cassian holds his hands to me, his smile as wide as the world.

“Hi,” I say, letting my eyes linger on his face, his brushed out hair, his suit. My heart is pounding in my chest.

“Hi,” he whispers, taking my hand and helping me down the rest of the stairs.

He kisses me gently as the others gather together.

He murmurs in my ear, only for me to hear, “I missed you.”

I missed him.

We’ve barely been apart.

“You are…” he looks at my dress, shaking his head. His words trail off as a smile spreads on his face again. “You do know how to bring a male to his knees, Nesta Archeron.”

I actually chuckle out loud, my mind recalling those same words from a long, long time ago.

“You look dashing,” I tell him.

Cassian shrugs, No big deal.

“You didn’t spend hours in front of the mirror, then?”

“Of course not,” he shoots me a look, holding out his arm for me.

His eyes catch the red gems in the middle of my dress as my arm entwines with his. He smiles at me.

“To match your siphons.”

Cassian kisses me for that one. And, for good measure, kisses me again.

With similar smiles, we join the others.

Rhysand reaches for me, but is mindful not to touch me in Cassian’s presence. There’s an amused air between the both of them, between the sly grins and teasing looks.

“Welcome to the family, Nesta,” he tells me, smiling. He passes me a glass of champagne. “We’re happy to have you.”

Mor clings her glass to us, “Indeed, sister.”

And Amren, holding on to Varian’s arm, says, “It only took you four days? Weak of you.”

“Shut up, Amren,” Cassian tells her.

Amren elbows him in the gut, smirking her way around us. I eye the gesture, but allow myself a smile. “It would’ve been more if we still had any furniture left.”

Silence as I sip my drink.

And then everybody bursts out laughing. 

I shoot Cassian, whose gaping at me, a wide grin. 

You thought you were the only one with remarks up your sleeve?

He clinks his glass to mine, snorting, This is why we belong to each other.

“I also have an announcement,” Rhysand says all of a sudden. 

We look towards him.

As he looks at Feyre. His smile is tender, emotional, as he holds out his hand to his mate. Feyre joins him, her face glowing as she stares at us, “We both have.”

“What?” Cassian asks, looking between the two. “Wedding? About time.”

Azriel punches his brother’s shoulder. “Don’t ruin it.”

Feyre takes a breath. And pushes away her sparkling scarf to reveal –

A small bump.

“We’re expecting,” she tells us.

It hits me like a slap in the face.

“Feyre?!” Elain screams.

Mor is crying. So is Azriel.

Amren and Varian are open-mouthed.

Then Rhysand is crying.

Cassian looks as if he’s about to faint.

And it all makes sense in my head now.

A life given.

My heart bursts.

When my sister is released from all the hugging arms, I walk to her. I open my mouth, but no words come out as I look down at the very evident bump. “All this time?” I whisper to her.

“You were supposed to know first,” she tells me, grabbing my shaking hand. “But then everything happened.”

“I’m so happy for you.”

And it’s those words that send my sister crying into my arms.

I think I’m crying to as I hold her, as I tell her, “I’m so happy.”

And she’s whispering thank you’s into my neck, arms gripping me tight.

“What the fuck,” Cassian sobs. “What the fuck. I’m going to be an uncle? I’m not old enough for it.”

Rhysand chuckles as he holds his crying brother. Azriel is still open-mouthed, mumbling faded ‘congratulations’ to both Rhys and Feyre.

Feyre rests her head on my shoulder, my and Elain’s arms around her, as we watch our three Illyrians hug each other.

We drink, we celebrate, and laugh together.

And I find myself looking at them all.

Cassian with his arm around Azriel and Rhysand’s shoulders, the three smiling at each other, laughing with each other. Feyre and Mor holding in to each other then, Elain wiping tears of happiness from her cheeks. I think I’m letting mine run free. Amren patting Rhys’ arm, along with Varian’s graceful smiles and words of encouragement.

And I find myself bursting with happiness as well.

My friends.

My family.

We drink and celebrate some more, letting the music sway us into each other’s arms.

I’m wrapped up in my mate.

“What a night,” he tells me.

“What a night,” I agree.

He looks behind my shoulder, eyeing my sister and his brother swaying quietly together, Rhysand’s hand on her stomach.

“Do you think that’ll be us someday?” Cassian whispers.

I look up at him. “Do you want that?”

“Do you want that?”

“I asked you first,” I object.

Cassian smiles, twirling me slowly. “Yes. Not now – definitely not now. But…someday. If that’s what you want as well.”

I imagine a family with him. A life with him.

I see it all in my head.

And so I tell him, “I would not mind that at all,” I place a kiss on his chin. “In a hundred years or so.”

He chuckles against me.

And we sway for the rest of the night.

***

After the celebrations, the night goes quiet as everybody awaits the moment where the stars – spirits, they tell me – shoot into the skies.

Eris arrives in time for it, but he lets himself be alone on the main balcony, his elbows resting on the railing as everyone else sits close together inside, sharing stories of battlefields and childhoods, happy and sad all the same.

I watch Elain and Lucien talking in the corner of the room. I see Lucien smiling, bowing his head to her. Kissing her hand.

Elain bids him farewell – and they both look happy to depart.

The rest of us look on as Lucien says goodnight and walks out. When he does, conversation goes on as normal, except I’m staring at Elain coming to sit down next to the spymaster, wrapping an arm around his own and entwining her fingers with his.

He looks astounded. Shocked beyond belief as Elain simply lays her head on his shoulder, a quiet smile on her face.

I feel Cassian entwining his own fingers with mine, his happiness for his brother clear on his face. I don’t know what kind of agreement Lucien and Elain came to, but…

They looked both happy, for once.

And now – Azriel leans down, kissing the top of her head, squeezing her hand.

No shadows around him.

I look to the male outside, call back the memory of when he arrived – he went straight to Morrigan. And they talked for hours and hours. When they came out of the kitchen, Eris was still blinking back tears and Morrigan –

She asked him to join us.

And so he stayed for the rest of the night. 

A lot of conversations went on, it seems. But there’s still one I need to have.

I look up at Cassian, touch my lips to his cheek, as a way to let him know what I’m about to do – who I’m about to talk to. He looks down at me, sends a look towards Eris’ back. His hand clutches me tighter.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell him, pulling my hand free.

He looks at me, restraint marrying his features. He nods once, watching me. I give him a gentle smile before getting up and walking to the main balcony.

I say nothing as I slide in next to Eris, watching the streets packed with people with drinks in hand. Twinkling lights adorn every single house like fireflies lighting up the darkness of the beautiful night.

He says to me, “Word is that you’re a mated female now.”

When he turns his face to me – he’s smiling.

A strange kind of smile; a smile I haven’t seen on him yet. I wonder if his mother has the same smile. The same smile Lucien wore just a few moments ago as he said goodbye to my sister.

“Word is true,” I tell him.

He nods, looking away.

“Word is that you wear a crown now,” I say to him, entwining my fingers together. I feel Cassian’s eyes on us, and look over my shoulder once to give him a slight smile.

I can feel the effort he’s making.

How it goes against every deeply-rooted feeling to let me this close to another male. Especially a male like Eris – who feels something for me.

Eris scoffs.

“Where is it now?” I ask.

He grins, shooting me a look. A heartbeat later a crown of pure flame envelops the top of his head. It solidifies into a crown of gold and red, orange gems gleaming in the pale twinkling lights.

“Impressive,” I muse.

In the same moment, he makes it disappear. “Heavy, too.”

“They tell me you saved me.”

“I did nothing.”

“You saved my mate’s life, as well,” I turn to him. “If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have a mate to come back to at all.”

He looks embarrassed, “It’s nothing.”

I stare at him for a while, watching as he lowers his head, cheeks burning. I see the flames gathering at his fingertips – yet he clenches his hand, pushing them away. Embers falls to the ground.

“Thank you,” I tell him, my gratefulness genuine.

Eris looks at me. “You did it all on your own. Survived on your own.”

“Yes,” I sigh softly. “But still. If he had dived in that cauldron…”

I pause, swallowing the knot in my throat. I look behind me to see Cassian laughing at something Feyre said, though I know he’s secretly listening.

“You wouldn’t have come back,” Eris finishes. “If he had died there.”

“No,” I agree.

A long pause. He sighs, “Don’t worry,” Eris says. “Your mate already thanked me. And I bet it took every bit of his pride to do so.”

“Why aren’t you there with the rest of them?”

“I’m not part of this,” he says, gesturing around.

“You could be.”

Eris looks at me. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t deserve it.”

“I thought that, too,” I tell him, turning to the streets below us. “Once. They changed my mind.”

“Are you going to change my mind, Nesta Archeron?”

He smiles at me. The twinkling eyes make his eyes look like fire come to life.

I tell him, “Only you can change your own mind. Know the offer stands.”

For what he did – for what he gave.

“Congratulations,” he says, looking at his feet. “For finding your mate.”

I dip my chin in thanks. We say nothing else for a while.

And then, “Your mother?” I ask.

Because I see it in his eyes that anguish. I see that same feeling in his eyes I felt for a hundred days on end – that same hopelessness, the need to talk.

He tells me, “Refusing to talk to me.” He pauses for a while. And I think he’s not going to say anything else when he does. “Lucien went to visit her. Tried to change her mind about me.”

“You did what you had to do.”

Eris shakes his head. “But Lucien…Lucien is the golden son. In her eyes – he should’ve been crowned. Not me.”

And I couldn’t contradict it – because I believed him.

Still. “Your brother wants nothing to do with the throne.”

“He insists he doesn’t,” Eris says. “Maybe when he changes his mind and decides to slit my throat open I’ll let him.”

“Everything you’ve done will be for nought.”

Eris looks at me. Looks back at my mate, at the tender gaze paused on my back. He whispers, “Not everything.”

Eris turns back to the front – and we’re as silent as the stars above.

“Do you think there’s a soul out there searching for me?” He asks lowly, like he wants nobody else to hear him.

I look at him – at the sadness that I catch in every feature.

“Yes,” I say. And I tell him the truth. “I think so.”

“In another life,” he says, smiling sadly. “You and I would’ve been perfect for each other.”

I have to agree.

In a life where I hadn’t gone through absolute hell. In a life where Cassian didn’t exist.

“I’m glad you won, Eris,” is the last thing I say to him before turning back. He doesn’t stop me.

As I walk back to the arms of my mate, I can hear a faint, “I’m glad I did too, Nesta.”

***

EPILOGUE

My mate wraps me up in his wings.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, staring at the skies above, flickering with rays of sparkling blue and white. They shoot through the skies like rockets, the brightest of stars painting the dark canvas above us.

He rests his chin on my shoulder, breathing in my scent.

“You’re beautiful.”

His wings shield me against the cold, as they have always done.

I trace a finger on the inside of his wing, and he shivers against me. I breathe a laugh.

“I love these,” I whisper to him. “Your wings…they’re beautiful.”

And I know when he smiles against me and pulls me closer, as those stars fly over our heads, that he’ll never let me go. I turn in his arms.

The lion holds the wolf.

The flame holds the wind.

I lean in – and kiss my mate.

***

Cassian

She turns in my arms.

She’s so warm. So beautiful. My mate.

When she leans in to kiss me, I lifts her body up. She giggles against my lips as my wings unwrap her. As I take us to the skies.

I wrap an arm around her back, another behind her knees – and off we go.

To the stars.

We fly and twirl and laugh and kiss amongst the starlight.

My mate. Nesta. My mate.

I whisper to her, in the middle of all that bright darkness, “We still need to buy a new mattress.”

And Nesta laughs against me.

I stare at her smiling face and try to remember a time when that sound didn’t fill my ears. When that smile wasn’t the only thing my eyes could see.

“And a new table,” she reminds me, smirking. “If you hadn’t banged your fist so hard -”

“Don’t blame me, sweetheart,” I tell her, stealing a kiss from her. “You’re the one to blame.”

“We’ll see about that,” Nesta says, wrapping her arms around my shoulders, her lips taking mine.

I could never get use to this.

My mate.

I will never take her for granted. We’ve both fought and bled for this, but…there’s no way I’ll take her, this, for granted.

“We’ll settle the score,” I mumble against her lips, “when I get you home.”

Nesta kisses me one more time. And then she pulls back to look at me. Pale blue eyes against that endless black stare at me, shining and happy and beautiful – alight with life.

She whispers to me, “Cassian,” another kiss between the words. “I’m already home.”

And when she takes my lips again, I know.

She will never walk away.

The End


End file.
